


Here a Vamp, There a Vamp

by liliaeth, spikes_heart



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 62,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liliaeth/pseuds/liliaeth, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikes_heart/pseuds/spikes_heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike takes Buffy and Dawn for a little pleasure trip to New Orleans. A sort of intervention for Dawn to get her out of the Council’s library after a heartbreaking discovery. Somehow this all leads to a big mess when a certain southern fry cook spots the white haired vampire.</p><p>Canon for all of BtVS, Not comics compliant. SPN leaves canon behind sometime after the episode Taxi Driver, definite tweaking of a certain guest character.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the crossbigbang community at Live Journal

By the year 1934, Benny Lafitte had been a vampire for over ten years. When he’d been human, he’d owned a shrimp bar in Carencro, Louisiana. He’d been a simple fry cook when his Maker had targeted him for some unfathomable reason. Exactly what had made him more than lunch, Benny had no clue.

On that fateful day, his best friend had asked for help on his shrimp boat, and Benny had agreed. He’d kissed his wife goodbye and ruffled his son’s hair, promising he’d bake a shrimp meal fit for a king when he returned. It was supposed to be a short weekend, but it had turned out to be the last weekend of Benny’s mortal life.

When the vampires boarded his friend’s boat, Benny had looked into the monster’s face and accepted his fate. No begging for mercy or for his life, he just fell silent and locked eyes with his murderer. Coppery-tasting blood seeped into his mouth even as he saw the other monsters prey on his friend and the rest of the crew.

For the next ten years, Benny was rarely out of his Maker’s sight. Father, as he demanded to be called, wanted to make sure that all new members of the family knew what they were doing before he sent them out to find the right prey, and Benny, though he was one of Father’s favorites, was no exception to the rule.

His maker was head of three nests spread along the coast, along with a small fleet of shrimp boats. At the time, Benny had been new and inexperienced. Benny couldn’t help but look up to the vampire as a God. It was ingrained, he supposed. Even if what he’d had to do went against everything he’d believed in as a human. But, in all that time, he’d never once told Father about his human family, nor did he ever lead the nest back to Carencro, praying that his son didn’t believe his father had abandoned him.

New Orleans had become a haven, a place where he’d settled into his new life and his new family. A place where Father cared for him. So it was a natural location for him to set himself up as a fry cook after he’d seen the last of Dean Winchester. He found an unpretentious little place that catered more towards the locals than the tourist trade. Life was good, his urges were tempered in the familiar setting, and Benny put his feelings for the elder Winchester on the back burner. He missed his brother-in-arms, but he wasn’t crippled by his absence.

And sure, he got tempted at times, especially when one of his co-workers cut themselves. After all, he _was_ a vampire, and blood was his sustenance, but he made sure to have a fully stocked first aid kit on hand and filled his work space with aromatic herbs and spices to keep the scents of humanity at bay.

Benny had been enjoying the peace of his life for several months when a blast from his past walked into the restaurant. Yeah, the hair was different. The neon white was certainly a new affectation, but there was no mistaking those cheekbones; that face. The infamous William the Bloody, Spike, was back in town. The way he strode into the place, as if he owned it… it made Benny grimace and sharp teeth dropped into place behind his clenched lips as he stared at the thing that dared to enter his home once again.

It took him a moment more to realize that Spike wasn’t alone. He had two young women in tow: one tall and lithe, wearing a flowered sundress, and one short and sweet with long, wavy blonde hair. She wore a short skirt and a t-shirt. The two of them happily talking with the vampire as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

Benny’s stomach twisted into knots. They were in deep trouble, and obviously didn’t know their lives were at stake. He was pulled out of his thoughts as the creature walked right up to him, ignoring the waiter and moving to the counter.

He slapped the call bell, the sound sharp and piercing.

“Oi, mate. D’ya have those bloomin’ onion things?” he called out. “Didn’t see ‘em on the menu, but they’re not difficult to make.”

Benny stared at the monster, remembering that same face covered in his nest mates’ blood. He stood frozen, knowing that he couldn't do anything, not now. If he did act, Spike would have no reason to keep from killing everyone around him. He waited for the vampire to say something else, to recognize him… to remember the bloodshed he’d caused amongst his family.

Spike snapped his fingers. “You all right? Having a seizure or summat?”

“Uh… sorry, man. Just drifted off for a sec.” Benny shook his head. There were no signs of recognition in the blue eyes he remembered so well. “What is this onion thing you’re talking about?”

As Spike launched into the merits and makings of the Blooming Onion, the shorter of Spike’s companions sidled up to the blond vampire. She was the one in the mini skirt, and it wasn’t until then that Benny realized what was emblazoned on her chest. _Slayer_. It took Benny a moment to realize it had to be one of those band shirts, like the one Dean had worn when he first arrived in Purgatory. He remembered the name, and upon escaping from Purgatory, looked it up… and searched for the new Slayer. It was an irrelevant thought, however.  
The shirt was nice, even if the woman wasn’t quite buxom enough for his tastes. An odd feeling tickled at the back of his senses, but he pushed it away, blaming it on nerves at seeing a hated enemy after all these years.  
The irony of the Slayer of Slayers killing a girl wearing that shirt… he imagined in the sick, twisted mind of the vampire it would be some sort of salute to the current Slayer. Maybe bring her to his attention and make her his second, or third or whatever number he was up to now.

“Is there a problem, Spike?” she asked, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Dawn’s getting really hungry, and you know what a human garbage disposal she can be.”

Benny tensed, hands fisting, nails cutting into his skin as he tried to stay quiet. She seemed so lively. How could he live with himself if he let these young girls end up dead?

“Nothin’s wrong, love,” Spike said, dropping a kiss on her upturned forehead. “Hopin’ to get the cook to fry up a bloomin’ onion for us. What’ya say, mate? Can you oblige a bloke and his ladies?”

"Sure." Benny answered slowly, looking away from the duo before his face betrayed his turmoil. “Will you be wantin’ anything else?”

“Why don’t we start with the onion, and see where that takes us?” At Benny’s nod, Spike shepherded the young woman back to the table, and the smiling brunette.

It took another half an hour before Benny could manage to find an excuse to go outside. The boss looked at him strange, since it wasn't like he smoked, but she nodded when Benny pointed to his phone. With one last look towards the vampire’s table, where the trio was happily munching on the batter-fried onion, he slipped out the back entrance and taking a deep breath, called the one person who might be willing to help. He prayed that caller ID wouldn’t deter Dean from answering.

Even though he knew that Dean would always pick Sam over him, he just hoped that the seriousness of the situation would be enough to convince the younger and more petulant Winchester that their help was needed.  
Three rings, four… Benny began to despair. He was about to give up and attempt to do something himself after all, when luck was with him. Dean’s familiar voice answered on the sixth ring.

“Damn it, Benny? I thought I made myself clear that we needed to be done.”

Just hearing those angry words tore into the vampire’s heart. "Sorry, brother,” he said, shaking his head. “I really am. But this isn't about me, there're lives in danger, and I need your help.

There were rustling sounds in the background before Dean replied. “Spill, then. What can’t you handle yourself?”

"Have you ever heard about demon vamps?"

When an answer didn't come, Benny continued. "They mostly hang out around hellmouths or any place that feels close to the pit. They drink blood, like we do, but that’s about the only thing we have in common. Most of what legends and lore say about vampires is about them, not my kind."

"Ya mean all that crap about crosses, and the lack of reflection?"

"That and they can be killed by wooden stakes through the heart, or beheadings."

"So what's the problem?” Dean asked. “You can drive a stake through their hearts… seems like easy peasy work for a vamp like you.”

"You'd think, right? For all their vulnerabilities, they're faster, they're stronger, they're all-‘round more powerful than us. My nest went up against just two of them back in the thirties. There were over twenty of us, and two of them, and they tore through us as if they were shredding paper. We didn't stand a chance. And now he's back.”

"Damn." Dean muttered.

"They don't care about Hunters. From what I saw, they kill with abandon. They didn't even bother to feed on most of the people they killed; just used their fangs to rip out throats. Basically, they killed for the sheer pleasure of it. The one I saw in the thirties, he just walked into the bar I'm working at. And it looks like he's got an appetizer and lunch with him."

There was a slight pause before Dean answered. “I’m in Kansas right now, and I have to talk to Sammy first. It’ll take me at least fifteen hours. Think you can keep an eye on 'em for that long?”

Benny threw back his head in sheer relief.

“Hey, Benny! Get your ass back inside.” Georgia yelled from the back door. “Not payin’ you for yappin’ on the phone all day. We got orders stacking up while you’re here, lollygaggin’ around.”

Benny nodded at his boss, a fifty-something year old woman with café-au-lait skin and the personality of a prickly alligator if you got on her wrong side. “Be right there, Georgia,” he promised before turning his attention back to the phone. He knew he had to finish quickly, because it didn’t look like Georgia was going to be patient for too much longer, and he wasn’t looking forward to being beheaded by her wooden spoon.

"Just get in here, brother,” she said as she walked back inside. “‘Cause I can't handle this on my own."

“Gotta go, Dean. Just hustle. I’ll do my best to keep track of the three of ‘em.”

"Benny, if this guy is as dangerous as you say he is, don't commit suicide. Save the vics if you can, but don't be stupid about it."

“Will do, man. Will do.”

Benny wondered if he should warn the local nests. There were at least three in town that he knew about and all three were non-killing nests. Not that they cared about the humans around them, but New Orleans was an old city, and it's vampires had been a fixture in it for too long to risk their safety by bringing themselves to the attention of Hunters. A vampire like Spike would draw the interest of half the state… perhaps half the South, and there was no way any of the nests would allow that. He just didn’t think they’d stand a chance against Spike.

The only reason Benny survived the destruction of his nest, was the cross he’d grabbed to try and hit the bumpy-faced, yellow-eyed monster with.

His nest had several of the damn things lying around, his maker had seen it as an affront to the humans they took home, as if mocking them for their silly beliefs that their holy objects would actually protect them. When it actually worked in warding off the beast he’d found himself face-to-face with, he was as surprised as the other seemed at his ability to hold the cross in the first place.

It wasn't until he went to Purgatory that he learned the difference. That while vampires of his own kind were children of Eve, the demon vamps were creatures straight out of hell, possessing the body of those they killed, barely retaining the memories and personalities of the humans they'd been before they were turned.

“Fuckin’ hurry, Dean,” he muttered, returning to his job.

***

Never say Buffy couldn’t multi-task. She sat at the table, ankles crossed, knees together, holding Dawn’s hand while talking with Willow on her phone. And above all else, her eyes were glued to Spike’s back (side), as his gestures got more animated the longer he talked to the cook, obviously relishing the description of his favorite treat. He did this in every restaurant and dive they visited.

“Willow, don’t,” she begged. “It’s not that I don’t understand. But don’t try and plead Xander’s case to me, not now. The whole reason we took off was to get away… to give Dawn a chance to breathe and get her feelings under control. I’ve already talked about this with Xander, and whatever else he has to say can wait.”

Dawn squeezed Buffy’s hand in thanks, and Buffy was happy she could help ease her baby sister’s pain. A quick glance told her Spike was still talking with the cook.

“Willow, I’ve gotta run. I promise we’ll talk later.” Slipping her phone into her purse, Buffy excused herself to Dawn and headed over to join her favorite vampire.

“Is there a problem, Spike?” she asked, walking up to her ‘bloke’ and wrapping her arms around his waist. “Dawn’s getting really hungry, and you know what a human garbage disposal she can be.”

“Nothin’s wrong, love,” Spike said as he kissed her forehead. “Hopin’ to get the cook to fry up a bloomin’ onion for us. What’ya say, mate? Care to oblige a bloke and his ladies?”

"Sure," the cook answered slowly, looking down at his order slips. From the note of tension in his voice, Buffy could only figure a customer telling him how to do his job pissed him off. “Will you be wantin’ anything else?” There was just something off in the way he looked at her; it just gave her the wiggins.

“Why don’t we start with the onion, and see where that takes us?” At the cook’s nod, and the sight of his back as he turned away from them, Spike wrapped his arm around Buffy’s shoulder, heading back to their table and Dawn.

"Yes, please ignore that I'm here and just go about having fun with my sister." Dawn teased before she grabbed one of the breadsticks from the little wicker basket and bit off the end.

“At least she doesn’t stick them in her nose and play walrus anymore,” Buffy snorted.

“Bit’s got it right, though,” Spike laughed, as he held Buffy closer, feathering kisses down the slope of her neck. “She’s not a little girl anymore, even if she acts like one. Think she’ll survive if I snog big sis in front of her.”

Buffy protested, more out of habit than anything else, but there was no real heat in it. Holding Spike at bay was becoming more and more difficult as his hand moved slowly down her thigh, and then began to travel upwards. This time a little push accompanied her words. “Stop. Spike, please!”

“Love it when my woman begs,” he smirked. His face glowed with smugness and self-satisfaction.

“Oh my god!” Dawn squealed. “Won’t you two ever grow up?”

Spike looked at her, head cocked to the side and eyebrows dancing. "Now why would we want to do that?" he asked, his tongue swiping across his full bottom lip, hinting at the delights he had in store for big sis once they got back to their room.

"Ewww! Impressionable younger sister here." Dawn was so obviously overacting that even Buffy couldn’t take her seriously any more. She was halfway convinced that the monks had messed up somewhere, leaving Dawn stuck as an eternal twelve year old in a grown woman’s body. Then again, maybe it was a younger sister thing. Dawn never behaved like that when around her peers… just with the old familiars.

“Impressionable, my ass,” Buffy muttered, now fully grinning. “Who was it that found you and Carlo pretzel-wrapped in your bed?”

"Or that Kitsune you ended up with in Hawaii?" Spike added, a soft sub-vocal growl accompanied his words as his eyes flashed amber.

“Oh, knock off the dramatics, fang-boy,” Buffy said, slapping his arm. “We all knew this was gonna happen eventually.”As if she herself hadn’t been the one to kick the Kitsune out of the door, long before Spike had ever gotten to him.

"Shoulda locked Bit in the cupboard 'til she was fifty," he groaned..

"And watch me slip out the second you had your back turned?" Dawn grinned.

“Again?” Spike and Buffy chorused.

"We should have gone with the lojack," Spike muttered.

“All right! Enough!” Dawn held up her hands. “I promise to stop being such a brat if you two stop treating me like such a baby.”

"Don't worry Dawnie, I promise not to let Spike chase away every guy that comes close to you when we head to the French Quarter tomorrow." Just every other one that even looked at Dawn as if they might try to bed her. Which probably meant they’d be busy beating them off with a stick.

“Hrmph,” Dawn sighed. “You’d better. You promised I would enjoy myself if I came with you on this road trip. I need a little ‘something’ to get my motor running, and Spike comes on like a bucket of cold water.”

"Summers word of honor, Dawn. You won’t regret leaving the Council library to set foot in the world for a change.” 

"Don't I get a say in this?" Spike asked, petulantly.

"No." answered Dawn and Buffy in perfect agreement.

The ribbing continued as a perfect onion-flower was set before them, along with a bowl of hot sauce. The place wasn't high class, but at least they weren't at some demon bar, and the battered treat was a delight. Once they’d finished and the bill was paid, they walked out, heading for their hotel.

Buffy’s arm wrapped comfortably around Spike’s waist as they walked slowly, taking in the peaceful night. Dawn strode slightly in front of the couple, nattering away about tomorrow’s itinerary. Just as Buffy was about to grab herself a nice firm handful of vampire ass, she felt… something. Tinglies, but not the usual vampire kind. She whipped her head around, but to no avail. Whatever it was, it was being very, very sneaky.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing that Sam noticed was the warm, familiar smell. He inhaled deeply, his hands relaxing as he remembered Jess’ baking. She used to love to bake. The state-of-the-art oven in their new kitchen had been a prime factor in their decision to rent the apartment. Sam remembered coming home to fresh baked cookies, or an apple pie, because he’d once told her it was the kind he used to eat as a kid. He never got to tell her that they mostly chose apple pie because it had been Dean’s favorite.

Oh how he loved that smell… coming home to Jess in the kitchen, adoring the fact that she wore the novelty apron he’d given her as a joke. He’d pulled her close and kissed her – she tried to push him away, all the while kissing him back. Now Jess’ baking was gone along with her.

Admittedly, since getting his hands on the Men of Letters kitchen, Dean had been experimenting. Trying out new recipes and ideas. Sam had even caught him watching the food network several times. Outside of a few royal flops, most of the meals Dean'd come up with were delicious. But this... this smell was heavenly.

Unlike the sight of the kitchen as Sam rounded the corner. The mess started on one counter and spread in a splatter pattern starting from the man currently covered in flour in the center of the kitchen. Dean brushed his hand through his hair, making the situation worse.

Now Sam didn't usually interfere with whatever Dean did in the kitchen. The last time he'd tried, Dean had brandished a wooden spoon and threatened bodily harm. And there were limits to what Sam was willing to put up with, just to get a bite of Dean's cooking. But that smell! Sam could feel his mouth watering as Dean bent down to pull today’s yummy from the oven. His eyes glazed over with lust.

Pie.

From what his nose was telling him, it was an apple pie. Of course.

For a few moments, all Sam could think of was a scoop of vanilla ice cream melting down the sides of a large slice, with a glass of milk on the side.

"Hey. Sammy boy," Dean greeted as he spotted his brother at the kitchen's doorway. "Behold the sheer perfection that is my pie!" Sam made sure not to let his eyes linger too long on the apron Dean was wearing to protect his vintage Metallica shirt. At least, that’s the excuse Dean generally used for wearing it.

Sam snorted, swiping his finger through a pile of flour on the counter. "Sorry, I'm too busy beholding the perfection of a mess you've made of this place. What the hell happened? Did something explode in here?"

He did take a step closer, hoping Dean would let him have a slice while it was still hot and bubbly. Jess always said he looked like a Saint Bernard with those big brown eyes whenever he tried to wheedle something from her. Dean turned away, keeping the pie a safe distance away from him. Jess used to do the same thing. Amelia? Well, Amelia didn’t really cook at all, much less bake.

“Uh, uh, uh, Sam,” Dean warned. “No touching until it’s had time to settle a bit.” Dean adjusted his oven mitts and carefully put the pie out on a wire rack. It was one of many new things spread across the kitchen that Dean had splurged on the last time he'd gone shopping. Sam was sure that even Dean didn't have a clue what over half of the stuff was for.

"I swear you've been possessed by Martha Stewart," Sam laughed as his brother puttered around the kitchen. "Except for the way you tend to leave a kitchen. There you take after a demolition team.”

Dean’s one-fingered salute made it quite clear what he thought of Sam’s opinion.

Sam noticed that several of Dean's phones were charging on the counter. One seemed to be perilously close to a bowl dripping with beaten egg.

He’d stopped wondering about Dean's technical savvy years ago. For a guy who didn't bother to do any reading for any of the schools they'd been in as kids, he was a marvel when it came to stuff like rewiring the place so they were actually able to use the bunker's electrical grid for more modern-day needs. If it weren't for Dean’s handiwork in the library, there was no way he'd risk his laptop on the original system.

Still, the sight of the imperiled cell phone bothered him, so he snagged it away from imminent danger, just as “Wayward Son” warbled from its speaker. He was about to answer, hoping it was Kevin calling to say he'd figured out the second trial, when Dean grabbed the phone from Sam's hand. Not before he’d managed to read the name on the display, however: Benny. Sam’s chest tightened with the betrayal. Dean just seemed to freeze, as if all of his good humor of a moment before bled out as he, too, read the name on the caller ID.

Sam took a deep breath to stay calm, even as Dean talked to the vampire. It sounded to Sam at Dean was honestly trying to stay away from Benny, at first, but of course the bastard didn't go for that. He watched as his brother caved. Too easily, in his opinion.

He stomped out of the room; anything to keep from throwing something at Dean. Why didn't his brother get it; that Benny was just using him? Sam steeled himself, waiting to see how this was going to be handled. What excuse he was going to come up with this time?

"I've got us a case," Dean called out, trying to pretend that nothing was wrong; as if this was just another call leading them to whatever distraction came next to keep them busy while they waited on Kevin.

"A case from Benny?" Sam sauntered back into the kitchen, managing to put all of his resentment into _his_ name and tried to pretend he didn't notice his brother's flinch. “What the fuck is Benny doing calling you, Dean? You promised me you’d written him off.”

"I did, I told him I couldn't ..." Dean sounded hurt as he broke off his sentence. "But this isn't about me and Benny, it's a case, Sam. People are in danger, and Benny didn’t have anyone else to call for help."

“What does he need us for? He’s a vampire, damn it. He can take care of it, himself” Sam insisted.

"Exactly, he's a vampire. He's not a Hunter. We are! And the threat is also a vampire, but not the kind we're used to ganking. If it's enough to set Benny on edge, it's something we need to help with."

"A vampire." Sam spat. "As in _one_ vampire?" It was ridiculous. From the little Dean had told him, Benny should be able to take out one measly vampire with both hands tied behind his back. For the smallest of seconds, he wondered just how vampires could differ. They were all deadly, and needed to be put down, in his opinion, and unless this one had wings and spit fire, he didn’t want to know about it.

"You have such faith in Benny," Sam sneered, eyes narrowed in disgust. "that you’re afraid he'll join this other vampire and go back to killing if you don’t come to his side?"

"Of course not." Dean looked offended.

Sam hated how easily that answer seemed to come out of Dean. As if there wasn't even any doubt in it, as if of course Benny wouldn't start killing again, of course Benny wasn't a threat...

"Then what is all this about? Why do we have to haul out to wherever he is? What can we add to the fight that he doesn't already have?"

"He said this was some kind of demon vampire hybrid or something. Very strong, fast and clever."

Sam rolled his eyes. Nothing he said was gonna get Dean to see the 'right' of his arguments. His heart was heavy as he said, "Then you go. Alone. I don't want any part of this waste of time and effort."

"Waste of time? Do you know what was a waste of time, Sam? Heading out to go save James, when he got himself in trouble delving into crap he shouldn’t even have gotten close to."

Sam knew his brother was still pissed at James. No, not at James… mostly at himself. It was a habit with Dean – to blame himself for anything that other people did. Dean wasn’t pissed that James made stupid choices, he was pissed at himself for getting a friend involved in their lifestyle. James would never have gotten involved with witchcraft if it weren’t for Sam and Dean. Because they hadn’t taken the time to warn him of the dangers inherent in their pursuits. The actual choices to dabble in witchcraft had been James’, but try telling Dean that.

"But we did get involved and we let James get out, even though he had a choice and he chose magic. Benny didn't get that choice, Sam." Dean’s voice verged on hysteria in his urgency.

"That..." Sam raised his hands in defeat. "Why do I even try? Benny just has to say something and he has you ready to run over and hold his hand." The fleeting thought that Benny had been there when Sam hadn’t crossed his mind. Benny hadn’t failed. Benny was… perfect, while Sam so obviously wasn’t.

"Look... right now it's a small situation. Two women who’ll die for sure if nobody helps them. He's worried that not only will they die, but afterwards, this new vampire will tear through New Orleans’ tourist population. All he wants is to keep this contained before things get out of hand.”

"Of course he does, Dean. I'm sure it has nothing to do with getting back in touch with you, or making you think he can be trusted," Sam said, sarcasm dripping from every word. He leant over the sink, fingers pressing down on the rim, knuckles white, as if to keep down his anger.

“Damn it, Sammy. I _already_ trust him..." Dean stopped, his lips tightly pressed in a straight line.

"He's using you,” Sam insisted. “His own pet Hunter who comes running whenever he asks. He had you to help him take out those vamps that turned him. Then he got your help with the vampire who was preying on his territory, and he even had you take out his Maker for him when he couldn’t. Do you think that was selfless? Now this.... can’t you see you’re just doing his dirty business? He’s using you as a hitman against whatever vamp that pisses him off. What if he's trying to build a power base and having you there scares the other vamps enough to do what he tells them to?"

Sam’s worst fear was what Benny would do once Dean outlived his usefulness. He might kill him, or worse. After all, even vampires got attached, and there was no way that Sam could ever kill his brother, even if he was a vampire. Would the cure still work, a second time?

He shook his head. All these thoughts were fighting for dominance. "I thought I knew Ruby, Dean.” This was his last ditch effort to make his brother see sense. “I thought that I could trust her, that she'd saved my life. That she'd protected me when I lost you. I thought I was alone and she had my back. And I thought that once, maybe just this once, a demon could change and be trusted."

Sam closed his eyes. "And then there was Lenore. I was so sure we did the right thing with her. That saving her was the right thing to do, but in the end, all those vampires we let go ended up killing again, every last one of them. Including Lenore." Oh god, that look on her face. The utter self-loathing over the life she’d taken.

"Well Benny doesn't have Eve in his head ordering him to kill. Now does he?" Dean looked smug, reacting exactly the way Sam had prayed he wouldn’t.

Sam could feel the anger rising in his veins, his hands spread out on the counter, displacing the flour. "How do you know what the fuck he has in his head? He's a vampire, for Christ’s sake. I'm telling you, it's not gonna end well for anyone if you go and stick your nose in his business again." _Please Dean, just listen to me._

"He's my friend, Sam. Do you know how many I have of those?" Dean fell silent, as if expecting Sam to answer. Why didn’t he see that Sam was his friend, as well as his brother? When he didn’t reply, Dean continued. "I have one, one friend that I fully trust to have my back. One that's never betrayed me, that's never failed me. One that's not an angel charged with protecting me, or... or you. I wouldn’t have survived Purgatory without him, Sammy, and you… I gave him up for you!"

Sam had sacrificed relationships for his brother, too. Didn’t he remember Amelia? But that was different. Amelia was human. She had a life outside of Sam. A husband who loved her. Going back to her, taking her away from that would have been cruel, and just plain wrong. She wasn’t a monster, not like Benny.

"I agreed because I had to pick a side,” Dean yelled. “Because you wanted me to get my head back in the game, no matter how much it hurt. No matter how worried I was about what might happen to him, with him being alone, and having no one to talk to, or help keep him on the straight and narrow.”

It made him cringe, thinking about how hard it had been to keep away from the demon blood. Of the memories of the soulless version of himself just standing there, allowing his brother to be turned into a vampire.

“And do you know what he did, Sam?” Dean continued, totally ignoring his brother’s turmoil. “He agreed… he let me break contact; he let me go, because he knew why I had to do it. Because he expected it. He knew I’d choose you over him and he still tried to do the right thing and help people instead of eating them."

Yeah, Benny did the right thing where Sam hadn’t. Benny was the good brother, and Sam wasn’t, and he knew he should feel guilty, knew he should beg his brother for forgiveness, but instead…

“Are you done?”

“Huh?”

“I said, are you done?” Sam shook his head in disgust, mainly at himself. “I’ve heard enough about Benny to last a lifetime. If you want to go… _go_. I’m staying here. Just don’t come crawling to me when this whole adventure turns to shit and bites you on the ass.”

It was everything he didn’t want to say, everything that broke his brother’s heart, and made him feel like a jerk, but it was too late to take it back. And a small part of him really didn’t want to.

“You’re driving me crazy, Sammy. I can’t believe you’re being such an asshole about this. I’m outta here.” Dean stormed off, tearing his apron off and throwing it on the floor. He came back a half hour later, hair still wet from his shower, with a small duffle bag and his jacket. “Thanks for nothing.”

Sam watched silently as the door slammed behind his brother. In a fit of pique, he picked up the now-warm apple pie and threw it against the door. The splattered remains slid down the metal like demon innards.

“God damn it,” Sam yelled, looking up at the ceiling. “Yet another thing I have to clean up!”


	3. Chapter 3

The night was peaceful, only the sound of crickets chirruping broke the silence. Dawn sat on her bed, the door to the suite closed, and the little voodoo doll she’d purchased at a sidewalk stall turning over and over in her hands.

It wasn't a real voodoo doll of course. The “made in China” sticker was proof of that. She wasn't that far gone that she'd start messing with dark magic. In addition, she didn’t have anything personal of Xander's – not a single hair. Even so, the square-shaped body and brunet yarn hair made it look somewhat like him… if she squinted. And it didn't stop her from wanting to stick the thing with _all_ the little pins that came with it.

She giggled a bit manically, as she pushed a pin in the doll's crotch. “Oh no!” she squeaked.  
It was either that or start crying again, and she'd done enough of that in the past two weeks to make even Buffy think she needed an intervention.

Dawn was grateful for Spike and Buffy's insistence that she accompany them on this little adventure. She wasn't doing herself any favors by holing up in the library, alone and miserable with her thoughts. She'd barely eaten, hardly slept, and didn't speak to any of her friends.

She loved her little family. Loved that they doted on her, even now that she was grown up. Yes, they bitched at her and told her she was a drama queen, but their concern and love backlit each and every word.

And who was Spike to call anyone a drama queen? Especially after his behavior when Andrew had dared to mess with his vinyl collection. She knew Andrew idolized Spike, but even the _vampyre’s_ number one fan should know better than to scratch the precious.

A knock on the door snapped her out of her reverie.

“Dawnie?” her sister called. “Are you okay in there?”

“I’m… I’m fine,” she sniffled. “Go’way.”

Buffy opened the door, peering in. “That works as well now as it did when you were a little brat. Talk to me, kiddo. Get it off your chest. That’s what I’m here for.”

"Do I have to?" Dawn knew she was whining. God, she wasn't a teenager anymore, she was a fully mature twenty-eight year old woman and she... she broke out in tears again.

"Why didn't he notice, Buffy? I thought he loved me. That I was special to him. How didn't he know?”  
She remembered coming home early from the Council; they'd planned to go out that evening. And then she'd walked into their bedroom, and he'd been in bed with that... woman on top of him. One who looked remarkably like her.

Behind closed eyes, Dawn could see it all in slow motion: The smile on her clone’s face, Xander’s panic as he pushed the woman away from him. She just couldn’t stop the tears from coursing down her cheeks.

“S’all right, Niblet,” Spike crooned in her ear, stroking her arm, gently.

_When did he come into her room? Buffy was right – someone was getting a collar and a bell for Christmas._

“I guess this whole body identity crisis runs in our family, Dawnie,” Buffy soothed. “Faith hijacking my body and taking Riley for a spin, and now this thing with Xander. Believe me; I know firsthand how devastating it can feel.”

Spike agreed. “You have every right to be pissed, Dawn. And as much as I absolutely bloody _hate_ to admit it, it’s not entirely the git’s fault. Shape-shifters are a notoriously tricky bunch, especially those who can read minds. Where d’ya think she got the specs from? Your bloke had to be thinking of you, pet.”

“I still don’t see why he couldn’t tell it wasn’t me!” Dawn wailed. “It could look like me, and maybe sound like me, but it didn’t know who I _was_ … it couldn’t act like me. Unless… unless… I’m just not that special.”

“Oh, Dawnie,” Buffy murmured. “That’s so not true. You’re the most special person in the world to me, and I’m sure Xander feels the same. That creature violated him. She might not have forced him physically, but he didn’t consent to have sex with anyone that wasn’t you. If you think about it, you’ll realize that Xander was raped.”

“If you’re so sympathetic to Xander, why the hell did you two take me away?” Confusion showed in Dawn’s blue eyes. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“First of all, pidge, we love you,” Spike said, cupping Dawn’s face gently with his hands. “We know you’re hurtin’ and we wanted to show our support. You know there’s nothin’ big sis wouldn’t do for you.”

Dawn nodded and sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve like she used to do when she was little.

“Xander has Willow and Giles to talk to if he needs to talk things out.” Buffy smiled, tucking a lock of Dawn’s long, silky hair behind her ear. “Spike and I just thought you needed a little time and distance before trying to work things out. You still love him, don’t you?”

“I – I guess so, otherwise it wouldn’t hurt this much.”

"I was mad as hell with Riley, after he slept with Faith,” Buffy admitted. “But the thing is, he couldn’t possibly have realized it wasn't me unless we were playing twenty questions in bed. Which we weren’t. I know that now. It just hurt too much back then to even think of it from his side.”

“But… but…” Dawn looked up with a watery half-smile. “Damn it, I hate it when you’re right.” Her fingers absently toyed with the voodoo doll still in her hands. She hadn't even realized she’d pulled out the pin until she felt a slight sting in her palm as she gently stroked over the figure. "I don't want to apologize to Xander," she whispered.

"Shouldn't have to, Bit," Spike said softly. "But what's fair is fair. You need to hear what he has to say for himself."

"Eventually."

"Eventually." Spike repeated after her, as he tapped another smelly cigarette out of his pack and lit it in spite of the warning signs all over the Bed and Breakfast that smoking wasn’t allowed inside the establishment.

"Just not now,” Buffy said, enveloping Dawn in a bear hug after smacking the cigarette out of Spike’s hand. "Now is the time for relaxing and having some fun. A little 'me' time is good for the soul." Turning to Spike, she asked, “So, is our stalker still out there?”

“Can hear ‘im outside in the shrubbery,” Spike muttered.

"I'm blaming you. If you hadn't insulted him somehow, we wouldn’t have a mad cook following us."

“Me?” Spike looked affronted. “Didn’t insult the bloke in the slightest.”

“He sure looked pissy when you were telling him how to cook,” Buffy insisted. “You were infringing on his territory.”

“Oh for… was just askin’ the bloke if he’d mind makin’ the damned onion, not questionin’ his ability.”

"Then you need to work on your counter-side delivery, vampire!" Buffy's smile softened her words.

"Wait a second." Dawn jumped up, ready to head to the window. "We have a stalker? Since when?"

"Since we left the restaurant,” Buffy admitted.

"And neither of you said anything to me? Again, I'm not a baby in need of protection. Don't you think I had a right to know?" Dawn looked at her sister and vamp brother with reproach.

"Well it's not like he was bloody well doing anything." Spike refused to be cowed.

"Would you keep something like that from Buffy?" Dawn asked, not mollified.

"First off, Bit, she'd've noticed a stalker without my sayin' anything. Second ... she'd have kicked my arse."

"And you think I won't?” She glared at him with all the power that being a younger sister to the slayer gave her. Well that and who else was he going to ask to save his shows for him? For some reason the digital recorder seemed to give him no end of trouble. Not to mention she was way taller than him, at least in heels, which so ruled.

Spike held his hands up in defeat. “Peace, petal. From now on, we’ll keep you in the know, orright?”

"You'd better. So what’re you planning to do about the stalker?" Turning to Buffy, she asked, “And how do you know who it is?”

"Sorta caught him staring at us the entire time we were eating, and saw his reflection in the window when we left the place. It’s easy enough to jump to the conclusion that our stalkery pal is the cook.”

“So he’s not a vampire?”Dawn said, nibbling on a strand of her hair.

“Having a reflection would make that a big no in my books, young padawan. Oh god,” Buffy moaned. “Since when did I start quoting Andrewisms?” She shuddered, chewing her lip. “Now… as to how to handle this... well, not like we're going anywhere, or have anything he wants that we know of. Maybe we should cause a little commotion and see if that brings him into play."

"Like what?" Dawn couldn’t really think of anything.

“Could always stage a fight.” Buffy smiled, cracking her knuckles.

“That’s your answer to almost everything,” Dawn complained. "Besides, the owners of the Bed and Breakfast might not like their property destroyed."

“Could go outside,” Spike offered.

Dawn warmed to the idea. “Oooh! Itty bitty me against big bad you. I like it!!”

"No!" Buffy and Spike yelled in unison. "You're not getting involved in this,” Buffy insisted.

“Do I have to start on the 'not a kid' bit again?” Dawn tapped her foot in annoyance, hands on hips.

"Well, if we're gonna go with itty bitty, it might as well be me," said Buffy.

"Fine,” said Dawn in a huff, unhappily conceding the point.

"Does it have to be sparring or can it be ... sparring?" Spike leered, making it quite clear what kind of sparring he had in mind.

“Making out isn't exactly unusual in this part of town. Mardi Gras, anybody?” Dawn looked confused, trying to figure out where this was leading.

"Isn't that that point?" Spike asked. "Rupert did say not to call too much attention to ourselves, especially after what happened last year with those black-blooded freaks."

“Since when you listen to anything Giles has to say?” Buffy laughed.

“Since one of those sharks nearly bit your head off,” Spike replied, all sense of good humor drained from his tone.

“Well, I’m nobody’s chum… get it? See what I said there? What, it’s funny,” Buffy insisted.

“Nothin’ about you nearly dyin’ again is funny, Slayer!”

“Damn… back to Slayer again?”

Dawn felt a chill, remembering that day. How Buffy and the others had faced off against these new monsters. More powerful even than the Turok’han. Unlike most demons, they looked human until they opened their mouths. And opened them and opened… to gaping mouths full of very sharp teeth. They’d lost five Slayers that day.

They still didn’t know where the monsters had disappeared to. One day, they were the big new Apocalypse, the next they had faded out of existence. The common theory held by the Council was that someone else had taken them out.

Buffy hated it when someone else took out her bad guys before she got a shot at them. Giles and Spike were of a like mind for a change. They were still paranoid that the big mouths could come back at any moment.

“So,” Dawn broke the silence. “What _are_ you gonna do about this?”

"We pretend to be, well, distracted… and see if he takes the bait."

Spike grinned. “Guess I could be jollied into a little public snogging.”

“All that arm twisting,” Buffy couldn’t help but grin back, batting her eyes. “However can I repay you, kind sir?”

Dark, waggling eyebrows told the whole tale.

***

Benny had never really enjoyed stake-outs. Even back in the old days, he’d preferred sitting in a nice bar, having a drink while listening to gossip, over standing guard in the harbor, waiting for news on yachts leaving or arriving. Not that he’d gotten out of harbor duty… Father was pretty clear on what he expected of his children, but he’d never liked it. 

It was getting late enough that most of the other rooms in the hotel had gone dark. The dark-haired woman with the sad eyes had turned off her light some time ago and Benny hadn’t heard anything to suggest that something fatal had happened to her. He tried to listen for her heartbeat, but there was far too much noise around them for that, even at this hour.

The blonde on the other hand didn’t seem to be as lucky, or as smart. He heard sounds of doors opening, then slamming shut again as the vampire took the woman down to the bar, first and then out of the hotel.

Benny knew if he was patient enough, something would happen. Sooner or later Spike would get impatient and one or both of his companions would suffer.

“Spike, stop!” The young woman giggled, leaning heavily on the vampire for support as she stumbled into the alley. He nuzzled her neck, actually licking along her carotid artery.

Benny could smell the beer coming off the couple, and the way she teetered on those ridiculous heels showed a definite level of drunkenness. One of his nest-brothers used to like doing that… get his victims so drunk they were just this side of alcohol poisoning. Alcohol-laced blood - Gaston had favored the taste.

"You don't want me to stop, do you pet?" Spike slipped his hands under her shirt, drawing her even closer into his deadly embrace.

Benny felt for the machete under his coat. He knew a stake would do, but it felt so uncomfortable, his hands still went to the machete instead.

Sure enough, the yellow-eyed monster that Benny remembered so well finally made an appearance. Bumps deformed the normally handsome face as the skin toughened to a leathery texture. The demon held the woman to his chest, about to go in for the killing bite.

Benny hesitated, staying his feet for the right time… the right moment. Silently he forced himself to walk into the alley. If he kept on wondering when to strike, the woman would be dead before he ever made the first move.

They didn’t hear him, too busy in the back of the alley as the demon pushed the woman up against the wall. Crouching behind the dumpster, Benny’s nerves were on edge. Just one more moment… and there it was – the break he’d been looking for. The vampire had withdrawn from her neck, burrowing his nose into her curly blonde locks. His hands fumbled with the fabric of her skirt, obviously trying to remove her panties while she wriggled enticingly. Looked like he planned to fuck her as well.

Benny felt his fangs emerge but forced them back, using every last bit of will he had. He couldn’t let this be about hunger of any sort, or he’d be as dangerous to the woman he was trying to save as demon holding her.  
He made his move.

He was fast, hand on the hilt of his machete, and with unerring aim went for the bastard's head. The woman jumped away. Good. She kicked out at Benny’s knees. Less good. Suddenly he was on the ground, his weapon flying away from him. The beast was unharmed.

He lunged again. This time she kicked out his left knee, punching him in the face at the same time. She wasn’t even breathing hard.

"You know, I really don't take lightly to someone trying to kill my boyfriend," she quipped, smoothing down her skirt. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to break them in just right?”

Benny scrambled to his feet, scrabbling in the dirt for his machete. She found it first, kicked it into the air and plucked it out of his reach.

"Your... Ma'am, do you even know what your boyfriend is?" He got to his feet, stunned at her declaration, and jumped out of the way as she threw the machete back at him, hilt first, knocking his hat from his head.

"Ooh, are we playing Twenty Questions?" she asked in a treacle-sweet girly voice that was as fake as Dean’s claims that he never cried. “I love that game.”

Benny found himself back on the ground, His cap ended up in a puddle of mud. It had become abundantly clear that she wasn't as drunk as he'd thought, if at all.

"I'd hate to call any lady stupid, Ma'am, but that thing... it ain't human." He’d tried reasoning with her, even as she ground her long, thin heel into his chest, wordlessly daring him to get back up again.

“Again with the Ma’am,” she huffed, jamming her heel just that little bit harder, with more strength in her leg than any girl her size should have had. “I never thought he was. What do you think I am? Stupid?” 

The truth of it rang true, and for a moment, Benny stopped struggling and stared at her, trying to find clues as to what she was. She didn’t smell like a shapeshifter. There wasn’t any animal in her, she didn’t stink like a ghoul either, and her heartbeat made it clear she wasn’t a vampire, either his kind or Spike’s. But she wasn’t human, not a normal one at least.

“And what business is it of yours, anyway? You've been on our tail since the restaurant."

He figured he’d missed a line or two, her annoyance evident that he’d missed her attempt at humor. If it was anything like Dean’s, then he hadn’t missed much.

“I was trying to save you,” Benny muttered. It was only when Spike started laughing that Benny realized he’d forgotten about the demon and where he was. An amateur’s mistake, losing sight of your main opponent while his minion kept you busy. “What else was I supposed to do, let him kill you?"

Spike snorted. “Don’t think I didn’t try.”

"Enough of that, Mister," the woman chided. “You’re really not helping.”

It was then that Benny realized his mistake. _She_ was the one in charge. It wasn’t the demon who was the threat, she was, scolding a monster like he was a willful child.

Benny’s drawl had gotten worse the longer he faced off against her. Correction, more like the longer she played with him. He started to realize he’d probably really fucked himself over by trying to do the right thing.   
Spike’s last companion had been a vampire, maybe this girl was her replacement, another woman to keep the vicious creature under her well-manicured thumb.

No, her golden complexion said otherwise, and it wasn't the kind of tan that came out of a bottle. If it was, vampires the world over would cough up the big bucks to more readily blend in with the populace. Benny managed to use her distraction to roll out from under her leg, kipping back to his feet, and grabbing for his machete. He held it tightly, making one last attempt to kill the demon.

Suddenly, he found himself staring down at a very angry woman holding back his arm and actually pushing him towards the brick wall. "What. Does it take. To get you to stop. And realize I don’t need nor want your protection!" 

He stood there staring at her, mouth gaping wide. Once he regained the power of speech, his fury got the better of him. "That thing,” Benny emphasized, poking in Spike’s direction, “murdered my friends – my nest mates. Him and that skinny, crazy, black-haired bitch." he spat. “He murdered my brother, the one member of my family that I ever truly loved, and he laughed while doing it.”

Even the demon seemed taken back at the depth of feeling in his harsh words. Just for a moment until that infernal grin returned to mock Benny.

"Sorry, mate," Spike offered. "Don't remember you. Offed a lot of folks in my time.” The woman glared at him and made him retreat a bit. “Not that I do that anymore.”

There was something off about his tone, as if he were trying to sound more carefree than he really was. The bastard hadn’t been that good of an actor back then either.

"Spike, please shut up," the woman snapped at the demon, before turning her back to him and facing off with Benny. She seemed sad. As if she felt sorry for him. Benny gnashed his teeth and hissed as he touched his chest where her heel had gauged a small divot earlier. She knelt down and picked up his cap, avoiding his gaze as she held it out to him.

Benny fumed. "You think an apology's gonna settle things? They're words... won't bring anyone back." He grabbed the cap out of her hands and wrung it out, the mud oozing from between his fingers.

"As long as we’re bringing up family,” she said, her tone less aggressive than it was before, “let me introduce myself. I'm Buffy..."

"You've got to be kidding!" Benny couldn’t help the incredulous sound that escaped his lips.

Again, Spike snorted, but this time she continued on, ignoring him. "Buffy... the Vampire Slayer. And you are?"

Benny’s ears filled with silence as the woman’s… Buffy’s… identity settled into his brain. _That was it – the odd tickle he’d felt at work._ He froze. No, oh no. So the name on her shirt wasn’t just coincidental. The irony struck him right in his unbeating heart. He'd only met one slayer in his life, and she'd scared the bejeezus out of him and this one was better than the other one had been.

Now he had to save his own worthless hide.

The tell-tale sound of a police siren approaching had the three combatants pulling back from each other. Benny figured it was time to make his exit.

“This isn’t over,” he called out over his shoulder as he tore out of the alley, leaving the Slayer and the monster behind.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Dean crossed the Louisiana border, his anger at Sam had been relegated to the same corner of his mind that still wondered why his brother hadn’t bothered to search for him during his stint in Purgatory. An hour later, it was stashed away with the long buried question of why Sam had left him for Stanford all those years ago. When New Orleans loomed into sight, he was too tired to hold even that much of a grudge.

He’d never admit it to Sam, but he felt a little niggle of doubt as to Benny’s motivations in asking for his help. What if Sam was right, what if Benny _was_ just using him? No, no... They’d been through too much together for that. He _did_ trust Benny... but he was still a Winchester, and paranoia was as much a part of their blood as their natural good looks.

The last time he'd been in the Big Easy, he was hunting a Loa. That had been the first time Dad had let him handle a hunt on his own. Dean had been so proud to be trusted with the hunt - so busy thinking that finally, Dad was starting to see him as a competent adult at the grand old age of 26. Finally – his father saw him as a Hunter. A real Hunter, and not just his screw-up, vulnerable son. Only once the case was over and Dean tried to reconnect with Dad, the old man had gone missing. Looking back, it had been no more than an excuse to get Dean out of the way so John could go after the yellow eyed demon on his own.

Neither he nor Sam had ever returned to New Orleans. Not even when Sam discovered that zombie hunt during Mardi Gras a couple of years ago. He’d been tempted, though. Hell, he’d changed his mind a dozen times over before letting the whole matter drop. Sam’d been ready to have him admitted for his crazy behavior.

Dean sighed and dug out the address from his jacket pocket to confirm he was at the right place. He pulled into the parking lot, securely locking down his baby, patting it on the hood before he went to check into the hotel. It would make scoping out the place a whole lot easier if he were a legitimate occupant.

It was a medium-sized Bed and Breakfast, far classier than any of the motels that he’d been used to for most of his life. They might even have one of those nifty memory foam mattresses, like the one he’d gotten for the bunker. Now that he and Sammy finally had a place to call home, he found it hard to leave the place behind when going on an extended trip for a case. He knew he really shouldn’t get used to it. He was a Winchester – the kind of luck they had tended to turn sour more often than not.

They could lose the place, lose the books, lose the rooms… all without notice, but that still didn't stop him from putting his mark on it in any way he could. Because somehow, it was a perfect fit, and he'd learned a long time ago to enjoy whatever he had for as long as he had it. If he didn't, then how could he ever enjoy anything?

He sat at the bar, people watching. Looking for a short woman, a tall woman and a man/vampire of medium height. Problem was, if either of the two women walked by him on their own, he'd have no idea. The vampire however, had bleached blond hair - and very noticeable and distinctively sharp cheekbones.

Dean rechecked Benny’s text for any additional information one last time before looking around the place. His eyes lit up at a small luncheonette located just off the lobby and he placed an order. He downed a cold beer and tucked into a delicious cheeseburger, ketchup and grease dripping down his chin. His eyes rolled back as he relished the feeling of food hitting his stomach, since he hadn't bothered to stop along the way from Kansas. As much as he liked to cook, he happily indulged himself at any bar, fast food place or restaurant he could find. Much like Guy Fieri from Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives, and not like Martha Stewart, thank you very much, Sam. Gotta love Food Network. 

There was only one immediate problem. The music or at least the easy listening torture that was trying to pass itself off as music. One of these days he was going to have to break down and get an IPod. And he was never going to tell Sam that one, either.

Damn it, he hated the fact that Sam wasn’t with him. He could be such a stubborn jerk. Hunting without Sam felt wrong, like he was missing a part of himself. Even worse than when he had to leave his favorite gun or knives behind, thanks to metal detectors. Why wouldn’t he give Benny the slightest benefit of the doubt?

When the bartender got up to change tracks on the computer playlist, Dean dared to get his hopes up. Unfortunately, it went from bad to worse. In place of easy-listening, bubblegum rock now blared from the speaker system. Dean grumbled, slamming his glass down on the counter so hard it cracked. He was barely able to stop himself from slamming his head down, as well, or cutting off his bleeding ears.

“This place does have tragic taste in music,” a man said, sitting down on the stool next to Dean. He was dressed casually, black jeans, tee and boots. Looking up from the bar, Dean turned his head and locked eyes with the very blond devil Benny had described.

The guy had a smirk on his face, the like of which he'd seen often enough in the mirror while shaving. It was an attitude he, himself, had cultivated, but it looked completely natural on the other’s face.

"Dean." Short, quick introduction to see how well the blond pulled off the human interaction bit. He held out his hand, quickest way to check for a pulse and body temperature.

With no hesitation on the man's part, he shook the offered hand firmly. Sure enough... cool. Not human. And definitely lacking a pulse. Dean forced a smile and offered his new 'friend' a drink as he continued complaining about the crappy music. How much would it take to bribe the bartender into putting on something decent? He’d even settle for a little Bon Jovi… and not their best tracks, either.

"Vacation?" Dean asked, noting the definite pallor of the man's skin. "By yourself?"

"Eh,” he shrugged. “My girl’s kid sis had a rough go in her love life, and we figured it was a good thing to drag her broody arse out of the library. Trying to make her see life’s still worth living.”

Dean couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him.

"Sounds like my baby brother. I couldn’t get his ass away from his books, either."

"Nothing wrong with reading." the vampire said, as he pulled out a cigarette, rolling it between his fingers before sighing loudly and putting it away again. “The beauty of the written word, a gentle whisper of breath in your lover’s ear at night…” The vampire sounded wistful and oddly poetic before the smirk reappeared. “When it’s not the only thing you do.”

"Yeah, right." Dean grunted.

The vampire sighed. “There are other indoor activities, like spendin’ time making love to your honey, but ever since… well, even when she was, I couldn’t stand to think about it. She'll always be my little Bit."

"You've known them for a long time?" Dean asked, surprised to hear they weren't the quick pick-up Benny had intimated.

"It’ll be about fifteen years next month," the vampire said, looking right proud of himself. “Bit was nothing more than a feisty little thing when I did the knight in shining armor routine. Then big sis stepped in and kicked my arse all over town. Wasn’t my fault her ex had a thing for veal. Me? Was just tryin’ for a peace offerin’.”

"You hit on a little kid?" Dean was horrified at the thought.

The vampire practically spit out his drink and looked vaguely nauseous before grabbing his beer and gulping the rest of it down in a single swallow. "Bloody hell, no!" He actually seemed disgusted at the idea. "I may have a lot of vices, but fucking kids isn’t one of them.” The vampire’s eyes flashed amber for a moment, accompanied by a sub-vocal growl. “Unlike some people I can think of."

Dean nodded, extending his glass in a salute before ordering another for himself, and one for his companion.

"Had to rescue the Bit from her ex,” the vampire continued. “Git decided taking little sis was a good way to get her back. Never made sense, the kidnapping, then again, ‘Gelus made such a big deal about everything. Stupid, bloody big rock,” he mumbled, seemingly lost in his own tale. “Didn't work, of course,” he said to Dean, snapping out of his mood. “Their Mum was grateful, though. A real lady, she was – made a mean cup of cocoa."

Dean tried to get the vampire’s attention as he studied the emotions flowing across his face. He could read between the lines as well as the next hunter. The older girl was dating a guy who got turned, broke up with him and then, when the girl refused to be turned, he kidnapped her sister instead. The real question was, of what possible benefit did this one get out of it all? Some vamps did love playing with their food, but fifteen years was way too long to drag out the chase. Most human marriages didn't last half as long.

“And you stayed in touch?” Dean asked, encouraging the vampire to keep talking.

"That’s one way of putting it.” The blond seemed almost thoughtful. “Took the girl a while to warm up to me, of course. Bint made my life a bloody hell for years. Took me a while to cotton to fact that I loved her.”

Dean shivered at the sound of the other’s laughter. It wasn’t a pleasant sound – it felt like something crawling up his spine.

“Was with someone else at the time,” the vampire snorted, putting a world of feeling into an expression that rivaled Sam’s unhappy bitchface. “…and I'm not exactly the type to wander around. But then my old girl left me and broke my heart. Before I knew it, Buffy and I are a few years on and she's everything to me."

The demon shook his head, looking at Dean as if he were seeing him for the first time. "Just what is your interest in my love life?” he asked, cautiously. “You writin’ a book or summat?" Dean was sure if vampires could blush, this one would be flushed to his ears after the personal revelations.

Dean hoped his smile looked friendly, and pulled an ID card out of his wallet. "Just interviewing tourists – trying to get a handle on why people visit New Orleans. Sorry… I probably should have mentioned I was a reporter." He suddenly realized he had no idea what to call the guy. Benny hadn’t dropped the information, either."What’s your name? I’ll need it for the release forms."

"Name's William, but you can call me Spike. Most do."

Dean made a show of pulling out a notepad and writing down some details. He figured this vamp was younger than he’d thought… most didn’t bother with nicknames. In fact, most weren’t interested in talking at all. Not to a meal. "Where're the ladies in question?” he asked, looking Spike in the eyes. “Any chance of interviewing them for the article?"

"They're women, aren't they?" Spike snorted. "Shopping, where else?"

"And let me guess, you wisely decided to sleep in and leave them to it?"

"Frillies and heels aren't my thing... unless they're on my woman." Spike agreed.

"Aww, and here I bought you a pair of stilettos, thinking you might want to model them for me," A snarky feminine voice said from behind them, pulling both males’ attention from their conversation.

"Whatever my lady wishes," Spike laughed, standing up and sketching a bow. "Though we might not make it out for dinner."

"And scar me in the process," the other woman replied.

It was hard to ignore the nice tan on both women, one that didn’t end where their clothing began. They were heavily laden down with shopping bags. Dean was grateful that Lisa had never been that much of a clotheshorse. She'd been too busy keeping to her budget and making sure Ben was well taken care of to bother with luxuries like that.

The shorter of the pair, the one who had spoken originally, put her bags down. Dean could practically see the sparks between the couple as Spike was drawn to her, and their kiss was almost indecently lewd in a public place. The taller woman just smiled indulgently, eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Dean, meet the light of my life and bane of my existence, Buffy Summers. And this tall drink o'water is her sis, Dawn." 

Dean definitely liked what he saw as he looked her over, which didn’t go unnoticed by the vampire, who glared at him with a toothy half-sneer. "Touch her, and I’ll introduce you to your spine."

The look in his eyes told Dean that he meant it - literally. It wasn’t an experience Dean had been eager to repeat, not after Alastair did the very same thing over his decades in Hell.

"‘ _Her_ ’ can take care of herself, thank you very much," Dawn said, slightly affronted. "The total stranger and I haven’t exchanged so much as a single word, and you’re ready to lock me up in a tower and throw away the key to keep the evil monster from jumping my bones.”

Buffy slapped Spike's arm, smiling at him with nothing but love in her eyes. "Don't worry, Dawn, I'm sure the nice man has no design on your bones, in spite of what your watchdog thinks."

"Pity," the brunette – Dawn murmured as she gave Dean a long once-over.

Dean privately agreed with her, but as with Jo, sometimes the reward just wasn't worth the risk. And if he told himself that enough times, he might actually believe it.

"Nope,” Dean said, shaking his head. “Sorry, Princess. My interest's purely professional. I'm a reporter for Travelogue, doing a story on tourists and New Orleans as a vacation spot. Though I have to admit,” he added, winking for her benefit, “the scenery's damned fine, here." He was sure he didn't imagine the growl that triggered in the vampire.

Dean held his hands up to appease him. "No worries, man. While I can appreciate a beautiful woman, I'm not about to..."

"Damn right, you're not," Spike said, sullenly, all the earlier good humor gone.

This time it was Dawn who thwapped him on the head. "And this is the guy who tells me I need to get out more," she grumbled to her sister, who gave her a loving pat on the shoulder.

"You're not gonna win," Buffy laughed. "You know Spike's not exactly rational when it comes to us."

"I'm twenty-eight, for crying out loud. I’m this close to growing my hair long enough to drop down the wall of that ivory tower he wants to lock me up in. When is he finally going to stop scaring off any guy that shows an interest in me?" she whined.

"When you remember you've got a man at home who loves you," Spike retorted. "And I'll rip out your spleen if you ever tell him I said so."

Now a vampire threatening a girl was more of what Dean had expected by way of interaction with humans. However, this sounded like more of an in-joke, laced with fondness, not venom.

"Is he always so ready to threaten other people's innards?" Dean asked both the females, even while admitting to himself that he was a bit of a hypocrite in that aspect. After all, he was just as willing to threaten bodily harm on anyone that even came close to hurting Sam.

Buffy nodded. "You can bet on it."

"Damn shame. Well I sure hope that your boyfriend appreciates you."

Dawn grew somber and ducked her head, face half-hidden behind the curtain of her brunette locks. "I thought he did." Her sadness made Dean regret even asking the question.

"Bloody hell," Spike groused. "What’s all the interest in our intimacies? Not that your readers give a damn about whom the Bit’s sleeping with."

Nothing, Dean thought. Just trying to figure out whether these people were innocent bystanders who were just plain clueless or the kind of assholes who betray their fellow humans to keep their pet vampire fed.

C’mon, Spike," Buffy said to her annoyed boyfriend. "Why don't we head up to our room and spend a little of that extra energy in a much pleasanter way?"

Spike turned to Dean, suspicion still evident in his eyes. "Thought you needed us to sign papers, too, or was that just a ruse?"

"Who? Me?" Dean raised his hands. "So our talk hit a tangent. If you don’t want to talk personal, then it's no skin off my nose. Maybe we should table this whole interview thing... bein’ as you're not feeling the love right now. I'm sure there are plenty of other folks I could interview."

"I'm sorry, Dean,” Buffy said, trying to hide her amusement. “Spike can be a bit of a pain in the ass, but he’s _our_ pain in the ass. Oh, by the way? Me and Dawn stopped back at the restaurant from last night and got the recipe we liked so much.” The last part was directed at the vampire.

“Oh?” Spike tilted his head and cocked his scarred eyebrow.

“The very same onion thingie we brought back in a doggie bag."

“Now isn’t that interesting?” the vampire mused.

Dawn snorted. "Now if Buffy could only make it without burning down the kitchen."

Dean stood and walked away, wondering if they’d even notice he’d left. “I’ll be staying here at the hotel in case you folks decide you wanna share your thoughts on New Orleans, after all,” he called over his shoulder, waving goodbye, before heading to a couple several feet away. Best to have a reason for hanging around without being accused of stalking.

The elder girl took a sip of Spike’s drink, her face scrunching adorably at the taste. Shaking his head, Dean wondered if she was an innocent, after all.

***

Sam stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom to relieve himself. He yawned and scratched, then clutched the sink, looking at himself in the mirror. Gods, he looked like crap. No matter how he’d tossed and turned he hadn’t been able to find a comfortable position last night and solid sleep had eluded him.

The fact that Sam’s insides felt as if they’d been shredding to ribbons since the trials began didn't make things any easier.

After swallowing a handful of ibuprofen, hoping for relief, Sam opened the fridge. Hardly anything he found was edible. A couple of eggs, some wilted greens, and a baggie with the remnants of a block of cheddar that had seen better days. He was about to yell for Dean, to ask him to make a food run, when he remembered that Dean was off on a hunt… alone.

A little bit of guilt warred with the anger that still simmered in his gut.

He knew that Dean could take care of himself. Hell, it was only _one_ vampire. Dean had survived worse – far worse – so the case should be a breeze. But what if it wasn’t? What if Benny decided to turn on Dean? If Dean trusted blindly in the vampire, he might leave his back vulnerable during a fight.

Even if Benny was on the up-and-up... what was it about this single vampire that had him in such an uproar he broke the accord of radio silence he'd made with Dean? What if Dean was right in trusting Benny and Sam had let his brother head into danger on his own?

Sam shook his head. He could tear himself in half trying to figure this out.

He looked around the recently cleaned kitchen; the place still smelled like apple pie. Sam padded over to the stove with a couple of eggs, the unmoldy portion of cheese, and peppers and onions he found in various bowls on the counter, left over by Dean from last week’s fajitas.

He scrambled the eggs and was pouring them into a sizzling pan when he was struck by an idea. Maybe, just maybe, Dean had calmed down enough to talk about something mundane. "We're out of groceries," he typed into the phone window, hesitating a moment before pressing send. He took the skillet off the burner and turned off the flame.

No more than two minutes later, he received an answering text: "So? Shop."

"You have the car, stupid," Sam texted back, mildly annoyed.

"Didn’t we find a bike in one of the storage rooms?" Dean texted back.

Sam could imagine his brother laughing at him, because Dean knew as well as Sam, that the bike in question was over fifty years old and its tires were brittle. Besides, the closest town was several hours away by car. Even with a brand new racing bike, the ride was too far to consider, and too unwieldy to haul several bags of groceries. He wasn't about to trust hitchhiking to town and back, either.

"Don't worry." Dean’s next text quickly followed the last. "I'll be back soon enough and we’ll stock the place."

Sam wondered just how long that would be in actual hours, when another message made itself known. "I'll even bring you some of Benny's gumbo. I swear that man knew to make stuff edible, even in purgatory."

That was the wrong thing to text. Sam could feel his blood pressure rise at the mention of Benny's name. He slammed the phone down on the table in disgust and ignored Dean's three attempts at calling.

Sam looked at the omelet he'd made, now cold and greasy in the pan. He picked it up and scraped the disgusting mess into the garbage. He'd lost his appetite, anyway.

For the fourth time, _Enter Sandman_ sounded loudly in the quiet room. Dean had programmed the damned song into Sam’s phone as his ringtone and there hadn't been time to change it.

Should he, shouldn't he... by the time Sam decided to answer the phone, Dean had already hung up. He quickly pressed autodial 1, but it went directly to voicemail.

Damn it... why couldn't they ever be on the same page these days?

No sooner had he put the phone down on the counter, than Dean’s ringtone sounded again. This time, Sam broke speed records accepting the call.

"Dean... look, I..."

"Got no time for this shit, Sammy. I'm in the middle of something. Sent you an email with a picture of the vamp I'm here to take down. You wouldn’t believe it – he stood right in front of a mirror and had no reflection whatsoever. I almost wanted to throw a bag of rice in front of him, just to see if that damned counting myth was true as well."

"Geeze, Dean... don't believe everything you see in the movies, or find online,” Sam snorted. “You never know what nonsense crackpots put out there."

"I know, Sammy, but these are like 'real' vampires. Movie legends like Dracula."

"So you think he sleeps in a coffin?" Sam couldn’t help but smile at that. Dean had always been a bit disappointed in how different vampires actually were, compared to those stereotypical entertainment tropes.

"I don't think his girlfriend would like it if he did. She didn't seem like the 'sleep in a coffin' type of woman to me.”

Now Sam was confused. "Another vamp? I thought you said there was only one."

"That's the weird part,” Dean explained. “From what I could tell, she's human, and so's her sister. This Spike doesn't seem to see either of them as food. I haven't seen Benny yet, but I wonder if he got his facts wrong?"

Sam wanted to say something – to jump on the opportunity to drive a wedge between his brother and Benny. Before he got the chance, Dean sent a text with an image attached.

“Look, Sammy… I really have to run. I just sent you a picture of the vamp. Calls himself Spike, or William,” Dean said. “We’ll talk later, once this is settled. We cool?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Sam really didn’t want to send his brother off distracted by a family feud. “Call me when it’s done.”

Sam sighed, putting down his phone and staring at the image of the ‘dangerous’ vampire. With the smile on his face, he didn’t look like he would hurt a fly. Of course, as Sam well knew, looks can be deceiving.


	5. Chapter 5

Chin raised and hands curled into loose fists at her side, Buffy was in defensive mode. Only a fight with her sister could do this to her. 

"Aw, come on, Buffy," Dawn wheedled. "You know I can keep this up for hours."

With a deep sigh, Buffy conceded defeat. Being stubborn was part and parcel of the people she loved. "Fine... you can come with," she allowed, not very graciously. "But remember, Spike will freak if you get hurt."

Buffy had not expected the restaurant owner to crack as easily as she had. All Dawn had to do was act like an eager little college student. Charming in her sincerity and looking for long, lost family, the owner was more than eager to help, and wham… they had their friendly little stalker's name and address.

Buffy would have preferred Spike at her side, but even though he was capable of getting around during daylight hours inside the hotel, the wide open spaces of New Orleans were another kettle of fish. With any luck, Mr. Lurky would be away at work when they arrived. A quick snoop and they'd be in and out in no time.

Besides, the previous night had shown that the not so friendly Mister Lafitte held no ill will against her, or Dawn, but did have a mega-grudge against Spike. It was the only reason she'd let Dawn join her. Dawn was probably safer with her, than in Spike’s company.

Dawn had this pig-headed tendency to throw herself in the line of danger for her friends, and Spike would never forgive himself if Dawn got hurt because of him. Buffy had no idea where her sister got it from.  
But it was annoying as hell.

She chuckled quietly, unable to help herself. There was no way to keep a straight face with that thought, even in the privacy of her own mind.

"Did you have crazy flakes for breakfast this morning?" Dawn asked, looking at her as if she'd grown a third eye.

"Uh uh,” Buffy replied, still chuckling. “I was just wondering what my younger self would have thought, if someone told her that one day she would spend her time protecting a vampire from his former victim. She probably _would_ have thought she’d gone crazy."

Dawn gave her the stink eye, and opened her mouth to argue. Then she closed it again, firmly, clearly ready to let the subject drop. Maybe she finally figured out that arguing was a sure way to get Buffy to change her mind?  
There was something about the vibe in this city. Spike had spoken about it at length, but Buffy hadn't taken him seriously until she was actually walking alongside her sister through a place still recovering from the damage Katrina had wrought years before. It wasn't just the humans affected; it was the demon communities, as well. Barely hidden in the shadows, small, huddled groups were easy to spot by anyone in the know.

There was an undercurrent of something electric she couldn’t quite define; something hiding right beneath the surface, just waiting to explode at the slightest provocation.

Then again, the sun was shining, the weather temperate and she and Dawn were on their way to do a little breaking and entering. What could be better?

It seemed their stalker was living in the basement of a battered old building just outside the French Quarter, comfortable walking distance to both his place of employment and the Bed and Breakfast. It was nice to be in a place where cars weren't necessary to get anywhere. Even though she'd learned to drive well enough over the years, Buffy was still more comfortable on her own two feet. No matter how often she drove herself to work and arrived at her destination unscathed, none of her friends or family, Spike included, ever volunteered to get into a car with her behind the wheel.

Buffy hadn't even had a fender-bender in over five years, for crying out loud. That is if you didn’t count that one a few months back, but that so hadn't been her fault. Stupid Kruloch demon had to jump out in the middle of the road. Who wouldn't swerve at the sight of an eight foot tall, orange-haired monkey-thingy with arms as long as its entire body, chasing a poor defenseless bunny rabbit? I mean, really? Anya would have been laughing her ass off, she thought, smiling softly.

They entered the building easily enough – the outside door lock was broken. But, when they got to the basement, they found their stalker's door was firmly locked. Three different types of locks, to make things difficult.

Buffy rang the bell. If he answered, she was sure they could come up with some reason for being there. If not... well, they’d cross that bridge when they came to it. She waited a minute, and then rang a second time, just in case the guy was in the shower.

"Looks like nobody's home," she said needlessly. "Let the games begin."

She got ready to kick in the door when Dawn stopped her, pulling a thin leather folder out of her purse. Buffy wondered what on earth it could be, until her sister opened it and she realized it was a set of lock picks just like the kind Spike always carried with him. The kind she'd specifically forbidden him from teaching Dawn to use.  
But that was many years ago, in a land far, far away.

Buffy kicked herself, hard. She definitely had to stop listening to Andrew. Maybe he could just email his reports.

"You've been around Spike far too long." Dawn said, cheerily, not an ounce of guilt in her tone as she stuck a pick into the first lock. "You're far too eager to use violence as a first resort."

Buffy wanted to protest, but limited her response to a grunt. She'd been violence-prone way before she'd been with Spike. It was part and parcel of the Slayer package. She couldn’t let him take the blame for that.

“And don't look so shocked about the lock picks,” Dawn continued. “I've been around Spike just as long as you have. This,” she emphasized as the first lock clicked open, “was something he taught me that summer you… you… well, just because you said don’t, doesn’t mean that I didn’t.”

"Brat," Buffy snorted.

"Tyrant," Dawn retorted, starting on the second lock.

"You know, if you ever get tired of being a Watcher, you can always have a lucrative career as a thief."

Dawn laughed. "Thanks, but no thanks... Sticky-Fingers Summers has long since retired, thank you very much. Just the occasional crime spree for this gal."

“Shyeah,” Buffy snickered, remembering the dreams she'd had in the first days of rebuilding the Council. Even Xander had mocked the very idea of robbing banks to get the money that they needed. Just worries over funding, not Slayer dreams, thank the gods.

In reality, all it had taken was finding the hidden bank accounts of the old council. Buffy was still pissed to find out just how much money they'd had stashed away, while she'd been forced to work at the stinky Doublemeat Palace just to keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies.

Now, every active Slayer got a monthly allowance if they were underage and an annual salary if they lived on their own. It didn’t allow for extravagant living, but it meant that they could focus on Slaying, instead of trying to survive. That was one of many good things to come from Giles turning the Council into more of a cooperative between Watchers and Slayers.

Those who didn't want to slay full-time were still eligible for scholarships and whatever help they needed to fit into a normal life without being beset by demons. Being the Slayer no longer equaled being a demon magnet. That alone, Buffy thought, was a relief for everyone.

*snick*

The third and final lock had opened. Buffy had been so distracted by her own thoughts that she hadn't noticed Dawn’s progress.

"Damn, I'm good," Dawn preened, putting away her tools.

"Please tell me you didn't practice this on your roommate's locks while you were at the dorm?" If she did, Buffy owed Vi a serious apology.

Ever since Vi's run-in with the bastard who took away her Slayer abilities, she'd withdrawn from the Slayer community. Getting Dawn in the same dorm room with her had been a last ditch effort to keep Vi as one of their own, so when their room had been broken into and trashed...

When Buffy opened the door to Benny’s apartment, she noticed how well oiled the door hinges were – there wasn’t even the slightest squeak to give away their entry. The place was neat, without being fussy. Old, but comfy looking furniture... a brown plaid-upholstered sofa, overstuffed easy-chair... a coffee table cluttered with papers. There was also an old television, much like the one in Spike’s old crypt – the kind of sets no longer in production. A couple of half-filled bookcases completed the living room.

Dawn picked up a pair of framed photographs. One held a picture of Benny and an olive-skinned woman, the image and colors faded by time. Considering the man hadn’t aged since the photo was taken, Buffy assumed it was a souvenir shot – the kind of costume pictures they take in Disneyland.

The second picture showed Benny in the same type of chef's outfit he’d worn the other day, arm around a fairly young brunette that held a slight family resemblance.

Both frames looked cheap, discount store bought, but obviously held a place of honor in the room.

"Look what I found." Buffy turned around to see Dawn holding up a wallet. "Seems like our friend was in such a hurry to leave that he forgot something."

"Dawn, put that down."

"What? We can't invade the privacy of the guy whose place we just broke into?" Dawn was incredulous.

"Don't argue the fine points of etiquette with me, Missy." Buffy had to admit it was a bit silly, even as she went through the kitchen and opened some of the cupboards. It was oddly normal; she'd expected to find weapons in the place for some reason. Maybe even a dartboard with Spike's picture for a bullseye. Again, she had to smile, remembering the caricature of Angel's face on the punching bag in her old basement.

"Buffy." Dawn's voice sounded urgent. "I think we have a problem." Buffy had turned towards Dawn as she opened the fridge, but immediately turned back to see what had alarmed her sister; about a half-dozen bags of human blood.

“Fuck!"

"There has to be an explanation for this," Dawn insisted. "Do you think he could be a hemophiliac?"

"What... he gives himself home transfusions? Come on, Dawn... you're a Watcher. What do you think it means?"

"Even if we disregard the obvious, I found _this_ " she said, holding out a piece of paper, "in his wallet."

Buffy took the paper from her sister; it was a newspaper article reprinted from an online website. The first thing that stood out was a familiar face. What was his name, the reporter from the Bed and Breakfast… Dean something or other. Dean Winchester, according the article. Wanted, along with his brother, Sam, for a mass killing spree spread across five states.

She realized, belatedly, that the guy had seemed familiar. She now remembered reading about this case sometime back. If she’d been in the habit of going after human monsters, she would have gone after them herself. It was always possible they were demons of some sort, considering they’d faked their deaths twice already. It was much easier to believe that kind of massacre was caused by demons, than to accept humans were capable of such horrific things.

She sat down heavily on the sofa. “What the hell are we going to do now? It looks like Dean should be the focus of our attention, and not Benny - even though he had a hate on for Spike.”

Dawn nodded. “I think you need to warn Spike,” she said, voicing Buffy’s own fear. At least her sister was safe beside her.

Buffy pulled out her phone, grateful that Spike insisted on carrying one with him at all times. "C’mon, c'mon, pick up, damn it." But he didn’t answer. Instead, it went straight to voicemail, the message telling callers to leave a bloody message and sod off.

"We have to get out of here, Dawn," she said, folding up the article and stuffing it in her purse. "Spike may be in more trouble from that damned reporter than from Benny... vampire or not."

Dawn nodded and was heading to the door behind Buffy when the door opened. Buffy grabbed a stake from a loop sewn into the waist of her pants, but the vampire… if he was a vampire… stood fast. Maybe he wasn't a vampire. Maybe the other guy, Dean, was, and Benny was keeping the blood for him.

The more she thought of it, the more likely it seemed. After all, she'd seen Benny in sunlight and she'd seen his reflection. She couldn’t remember much beyond greeting Spike and barely giving the reporter a second glance.  
"Guess I don't have to ask why you're here... Slayer," Benny said, facing down the two women. "I suppose that going after your vampire was enough to set you off.”

"Yeah, what can I say, I get ... twitchy when people I care about get attacked." Buffy answered with more self-assurance than she felt. It was easier to face off with an adversary when she was sure they weren't human. She never forgot Faith’s error with the Deputy Mayor, and was loathe to repeat it. If Benny was human, even if he was working with a vampire, she just couldn’t kill him.

It wasn't up to her to take out human bad guys. It never was, no matter how much she wanted to at times.  
"You wanna tell me what you're doing with pints of blood in your fridge? Holding for a friend? Having your own mini-blood drive?" Buffy stood with her hands on her hips, putting as much attitude as she could into her stance.

“I'm a cook," was all Benny said in response, looking away quickly. "I was watching the food channel and they had this English cooking marathon…"

"Oh puhlease," Dawn chimed in. “For one thing, the food channel wouldn't use human blood as an ingredient. For another, hanging around a couple of Englishmen for many years, I know exactly what kind of blood does go into those recipes. A Positive isn't on the menu."

Benny took a step back, rather than attacking, ready to bolt. "I don't want to harm anyone," he said, taking another step towards the door.

“I’ve heard that before." Buffy said, trying to sound as harmless as she could. "I live with a vampire, and I know it can be done. But he's not your run-of-the-mill vampire, and I don't really know you at all."

"He's not like us." Benny spat out, anger making him brave. His face changed, obviously his version of gameface, but it wasn’t like that of any vampire she'd ever met. His eyes darkened slightly, but for the most part they remained unchanged. The teeth, however… the teeth changed altogether. Not fangs, like the vamps she was familiar with, but shark-like little incisors dropped down over his teeth. An orthodontist would have a field day with him. He looked for all the world like a smaller version of those black-hooded big mouths.

She couldn’t hold back. "You're not related to those big-mouthed demons that ran amuck some time last year, are you?"

"Leviathans?” Benny spat. “Hell no. The only thing we have in common with those things is that they came from Purgatory."

The vampire still seemed edgy. Buffy wasn't happy about Dawn closing the door behind him. Her sister should know better than to corner something they didn't know by now.

"Are you gonna go after Spike again? Do I have to warn you what Buffy would do if you do?" Dawn stood firm.

Keep him distracted, Buffy thought as Dawn faced Benny down. The longer they kept him from feeling too threatened, the longer she had to make sure he wouldn’t suddenly attack Dawn. The question before them was still what should they do next? What side did this Benny come down on... good or evil? Would he go after Spike again? How safe were any of them?

"He's going to betray her. You know that right? I saw him go after a Slayer before. If she hadn't been killed before he got to her, she would have been his second."

"You really don't know Spike," Buffy said, defending the love of her life. "Not that I'm bragging, but he's killed two Slayers, and yes, he tried to make me third on his list. But that's all water under the bridge. We've been together for a long time now... just about ten years as a couple, and that's not going to change any time soon. He's changed. Spike has a soul now."

"So? All vampires have souls."

"Not the ones I'm used to."

"You mean the demon vamps?" Benny seemed confused. "The ones with the yellow eyes and bumpy foreheads?"

Buffy nodded. “Until now, I didn't know there were any other type of vamps, and I’ve been the Slayer since I turned fifteen."

"If I hadn't met Spike, I wouldn’t have known his type existed, either." Benny admitted. "I won't say our nest was nice. We weren't. But the things he did..."

" _Pre-soul_ ," Buffy stood her ground.

"It's just an excuse," Benny insisted. It sounded like the vampire was almost desperate to believe that.

"You still have a soul?" Dawn asked, curiosity honing her interest.

"Yes," he said, sounding almost sad about it. "It would have been easier if I didn't. I've done things I'm not proud of, but that was when I was young."

"How long have you been on the wagon?" Dawn tried. The addiction comparison still sounded silly. Vampires were obligate blood drinkers, not something they could stop drinking if they wanted to.

"Would have been a little over fifty years now, if it weren't for…" Benny looked away, abashed. "A hunter came after me a few months back. I was just living quietly, not harming anyone. I even helped another hunter take out a few vampires. But it didn't matter to him. He threatened Elizabeth. My great-granddaughter," he said, pointing to one of his framed pictures.

"He said he'd kill her if I didn't go to him, so I did. I was going to let him ... let him kill me as long as he let her live. My sweet girl tried to save me and he attacked her, so I went after him. He was dead before I fully realized what I was doing."

"Defense of an innocent," she murmured. "You've got a lot more in common with Spike than you know, Benny. Maybe you should meet with him and see what he's really like... at least now."

"Does he know where he's going?" Benny suddenly asked. "When he dies?"

“Huh?” She was a bit confused about the change of topic. "Do you still plan on dusting him?" Buffy pushed, needing to know.

"I never thought about it before. Even when I met Andrea, the love of my life, I thought about being with her, about giving up killing for her. About trying to live a human life. And then I died and went to Purgatory. If he didn't have a soul as a vampire, he was lucky, because at least his soul was gone, off to heaven like a human. Now, if he does have a soul, it's as damned as ours are.”

Buffy made a snap decision and held up her hands. "I think we need to call a truce here."

He looked at her, tilting his head in a way that reminded her of Spike. "I didn't think we were at war, Miss Buffy," he said.

Buffy sighed, swiping a loose tendril of hair back behind her ear. She really didn’t want to kill Benny. It was clear all he wanted to do was blend in with society. Still, if it was a choice between this weird vamp and her own, it was a no-brainer.

“I can’t let you harm Spike,” Buffy repeated, doggedly, wondering if a stake through the heart would work for this kind of vampire as well. If not, there were still knives in the kitchen, and windows to be used as weapons. To paraphrase an old saying… where did they go from here?


	6. Chapter 6

Not that Spike would admit it to anyone – not even Buffy – but the confrontation with Benny bothered him. Most of his vampire years sat heavily these days, especially when he stopped to think of the individuals, not the masses of people he'd murdered. While he’d long left his insanity behind in Sunnyhell, the weight of his past was something he’d carry until the end of days.

He wasn’t about to let it bleed over into his relationship with the Summers women, but when he was alone… when he had time for reflection… it was difficult. Like the business with this Benny bloke. Obviously he’d caused some grievous harm to the man’s family, but for the unlife of him, he couldn’t remember when or where. It couldn’t have been all that long ago – he hadn’t been in the country for all that many years. It just didn’t jive with his memories.

Spike lounged on the wicker chaise, enjoying the warmth of the sun, but not its direct rays, of course. The awning-covered area was deserted, and the perfect spot to be alone with his fags; chain-smoking and not-brooding. This was one of the few areas he’d seen not sporting those damned No Smoking signs. He inhaled deeply, letting the heated smoke curl about and heat his dead lungs. As always, the repetitive action was calming, helping to soothe his roiling thoughts. He could smoke to his heart’s content without suffering the heated glares from breathers.

“Bloody American piss,” he grumbled, grabbing the bottle of beer from the ground and chugging it down with a single swallow. He really wished they had something decent on tap, but he had to make do with what was at hand.

In one swift movement, he dropped the bottle and grabbed a wooden bolt out of the air, rolling off the chaise before it pierced his heart. A second bolt narrowly missed his left thigh, and a third embedded itself in the meat of his right shoulder. Grimacing as he managed to yank the bolt from his flesh, Spike growled and turned.

“Was wonderin' when you'd show your true colors, mate," he growled, as Dean stepped into view.

“Wouldn’t want to disappoint you now, would I?” the ‘reporter’ sneered, coming to a stop several feet away.

Spike grew uneasy when the man continued to stare at him, like he expected him to grow a third arm, or something. “What? Shooting me wasn’t enough?” he snarled. “We havin’ a little kiddie staring contest now?” He broke eye contact, and it was then that he noticed the bolt that had missed him was already tipped in blood.

“What the bloody hell?” he exclaimed as a fourth bolt buried itself in his stomach. It only missed his heart because he’d jumped out of the way at the last minute, spotting Dean’s itchy trigger finger twitch. With a snarl, Spike lunged for the man, kicking the crossbow out of his hand. Feeling the sting of the sun as he neared the edge of the awning’s coverage, Spike pulled Dean further into the shadows.

“What’s your fucking problem?” Spike demanded, ignoring the pain from his wounds. The stomach wound was messy, but he'd survived far worse.

"Me? I got bored," Dean sneered.

This wasn’t someone who got lucky with a crossbow. This man was dangerous, and very comfortable around weapons. Reminded Spike of Angelus when cornering prey.

“I got tired of waiting for someone to solve a problem, and figured taking out a monster like you was the perfect way to distract myself.”

That was something Spike could understand. Boredom caused so many of his well-laid out plans to go tits up, and he’d caused no end of destruction and mayhem for far less of a reason.

Curiosity got the better of him, however, and he asked, “What gave me away?”

“I’ll ask the questions, if you don’t mind,” Dean insisted. "Why aren't you paralyzed?"

"Should I be? From a couple of lousy crossbow bolts?" Spike wished he’d had his duster at the moment – his knives would have come in handy.

Dean sat down on the chaise opposite Spike, his demeanor tense, his weapon several feet away on the ground. “Those bolts were covered with dead man's blood - you shouldn't be able to move by now. Hit you enough times, for sure."

"You've got to be kidding me." Now Spike wasn't just annoyed at the attack, he was pissed off at someone with stupidity in his arsenal getting the drop on him. "I _am_ a dead man, you git," Spike laughed. "Lots of dead men's blood already inside. What's more supposed to do?”

"I guess Benny was right about you being a different type of vampire," Dean mused. “But I bet a nice beheading would still do the trick.”

Benny! Spike knew there had to be a connection somehow and there it was. This prat knew Benny, and obviously held a grudge on his behalf. At the very least, he was working for him.

"Look, mate. I don't know what you've been told, but I got no quarrel with you." Or he hadn’t, before the bastard tried to kill him. And was still actively trying, apparently, as a bullet grazed his temple. How did he miss seeing the bloke draw a bloody gun?

Spike got to his feet slowly, gauging the next move his opponent would likely make. For the first time, the man seemed uneasy… unsure of himself.

"Don't know what stories you've been reading, arsehole, but you're not gonna end me with a bloody bullet, either."

Dean stood, as well, hand moving slowly to his hip. “That’s okay,” he smirked. “Got me something guaranteed to please.” He pulled out a machete from inside his coat.

“Now that might do the trick,” Spike admitted. “But I’m not likely to stand here and let you lop off my head. This isn’t Highlander. What’s with machetes all of a sudden? First Benny, now you.” He took a few steps backwards, deeper into the shade and closer to the hotel. With any luck, someone would see this berk with a not-so-concealed weapon, and call the cops.

Spike knew he wasn’t overly tall, and side-by-side, Dean loomed a bit large. He straightened his shoulders, cracked the vertebrae in his neck, unleashed his demon and brought his gameface to the fore. He felt a definite frisson of pleasure at the first real sign of fear in his opponent’s face.

“You wanna fight, big man?” Spike taunted, circling around Dean, sizing him up. “Let’s bring it on, then. See how brave you are when your target is fanged and ready.” Spike’s growl thundered ominously.

The tension was momentarily broken when Dean’s cell rang, followed two seconds later by Spike’s.

***

Castiel had been wandering the world for the past few weeks, traveling from place to place using both human forms of transportation and his wings. He'd finally found a place to hide the angel tablet, keeping it safe from friend and foe alike.

Still, even with the tablet hidden, he felt lost. He couldn't go home – he could never go home. And Naomi would never forgive him for breaking rank. She'd made him kill ‘Dean’ a thousand times over and yet when push came to shove, he couldn’t follow through.

He knew he should stay away from the Winchesters, that he had betrayed them once again, and that it was too much to ask of Dean for yet another chance at forgiveness. But he couldn't leave them on their own. Human lives were short, brutal, fear-filled, but they were more real than anything else in his life.

Castiel was tired. No, exhausted. Between losing family and garrison affiliations, looking for his almighty father, and being run ragged by Naomi's ever–increasing demands, he was stretched as thin as he could remember.

And yet... he watched Sam as the human worked his way through the library; much of it still un-catalogued. Castiel could see the pain coursing through Sam's body from the first trial; the damage it had inflicted. He marveled at the young man's strength. It was a miracle that he was still standing, let alone working to find the information his brother needed, even if he didn’t quite believe in its necessity.

Brotherly love - something the angels didn't really believe humans understood. Dean did, of that Castiel was sure. His last prayer had been to look out for Sam.

Even as he beat that familiar face to within an inch of his life, for real, Dean still called him family. He’d claimed him as one of his own. It was something Naomi hadn't understood about Dean, something she vastly underestimated. The depth of compassion was most heavenly... something even angels tended to forget humans were capable of.

For all that angels liked to see humans as glorified mud monkeys; it was in their moments of compassion, of forgiveness, that Castiel could understand why their father had loved humanity above all.

Perhaps he'd made them far more god-like than even he imagined.

Castiel knew that the books Sam needed weren't to be found in the open library. For all the treasures to be found there, the most dangerous, the most controversial and the most valuable were hidden from sight. Of course they didn’t even cover the last fifty years or so. Maybe he should warn Sam about the souled vampire. Then again, anything that might make either he or Dean hesitate when their lives were on the line would best be kept to himself.

Pushing gently, he guided Sam in the right direction. Sam ran his fingers along the book spines as if he wasn't quite sure what he was doing, Keep on going, Castiel thought at him, until the human's hand found an empty space between a pair of matched volumes. Sam hesitated before he stuck his fingers into the indent, it took him mere seconds to find the lever and push it.

Gears meshed, and a grinding sound emanated from the metal shelves in front of him. When the entire bookcase opened he found himself in front of a hidden room, this one holding books both older and more fragile than those in the first library. For a moment Sam stood stunned, just taking in the vastness of information the Men of Letters had amassed.

***

Sam dragged his finger through the dust on the shelves, hesitant to touch the delicate-looking books. He sneezed, hard. The dust seemed to permeate the air. Even so, as much as he loved his computer, there was something special about having a book to peruse.

The number of books the Men of Letters had in the main section of their library pertaining to vampires was staggering, and so far, Sam hadn't been able to find anything related to 'different' types of the undead existing. On the plus side, he now had two new versions of the cure for vampirism. Both still only worked for the recently turned, but still... better than nothing and you never knew when they would come in handy.

Sam wandered aimlessly, his feet seeming to move without input from his brain until he stopped at a bookcase at the back end of the library. For some indescribable reason he felt drawn there. His fingers ghosted over the books, looking over the spines, reading the titles where they hadn’t been rubbed out from handling. To the right edge of the shelf, he found a space – a thin book-sized space – and delved gingerly between the volumes. He felt something smooth and raised; heard a click as he depressed the switch.

The bookshelf shuddered and then swung out, creaking like the door to a haunted house.

Sam stood frozen and stared with mouth wide open at the sight in front of him. It was like finding the first library all over again, only... more so. Books tightly packed on the shelves, and several more stacks found on little tables between the bookcases.

The room positively smelled of age - musty, cracking leather, decaying paper.

He looked at each bookcase in awe, struck with the centuries of knowledge contained on the shelves. If he could simply absorb all the knowledge contained here, he would surely die a happy man. A small part of his brain was afraid to look away… sure that was simply a hallucination. No way could he and Dean be so lucky to have so much information at hand. It would make their job so much simpler.

Sam tripped, almost falling to the floor. He looked around; trying to find what it was that had pushed him, but found nothing. He shook off the uneasy feeling and continued down the aisles.

There were books of spellcraft, Enochian warding symbols, treaties on hell and all its myriad dimensions. Sam had to believe the Men of Letters had this place warded heavily. Many of the books were probably a threat to the world at large in the wrong hands.

One by one, Sam pulled a first edition of the Call of Cthulhu, a thesis on wand wielding wizards that even the Men of Letters couldn't prove to be real or false and then there were the books that Sam was actually looking for. Many of them were old, handwritten and fading with age.

His eyes moved past dozens of diaries: Ackers, Bowen, Ganem… Sands. Winchester, as well. Legacies, all. Sam felt something pushing at his mind to look on, telling them he wasn't quite there yet. He stared at the books, many painstakingly handwritten, ink fading… way older than the printed page. Quite a few volumes seemed to be covered in skin. Sam shuddered to think what kind.

The bottom couple of shelves held differently-bound volumes. 'Council' a small plaque stated. Names like Travers, Giles, Wyndam-Pryce, Post, Fillworthe, Weatherworth… a quick look through the unfamiliar names and Sam turned to move on to the next bookcase.

No sooner was his back turned when a book landed at his feet. Sam was sure he hadn’t knocked into the shelf, and shook his head. He was letting the isolation and quiet get to him. He coughed wetly as he bent to pick up the book, dabbing at his mouth with yet another reddening tissue. Disgusted with his failing health, he began to thumb through the volume in his hands.

Page after page held tales of endless nights and trawling through unsavory parts of town and cemeteries, and the word: Slayer. Sam few intrigued after reading the line: “My Slayer held up her crucifix and the foul vampire backed off, flashing its glowing yellow eyes.” 

“Huh,” Sam mused. Vampires did not have glowing yellow eyes, at least, not the ones he was familiar with. “This could be just what I’m looking for.”

“My Slayer grabbed hold of her wooden stake and dispatched the demon, even as it growled and lunged for her, cursing at her even as he turned to dust. She walked through the cloud of its remains like an avenging angel. I hesitate to tell her that we shall be leaving anon, but I have heard word of a sighting of Angelus and his companions not far from here, and I feel she is up to the task of ending their reign of havoc.”

The term Slayer was liberally sprinkled throughout the diary, but why was there the proprietary ‘ _my_ ’, like she was someone’s possession? Sam skimmed through the diary, and picked up another, and another. Each one told tales of a Slayer being used as a weapon against vampires and demons. Each diary ended with the death of the Slayer.

There were sketches sprinkled throughout each volume; hideously deformed creatures the likes of which Sam had never seen before. Things that he'd identify as monsters, sure, but they were nothing like the demons he was familiar with. They were more like Hellhounds or Daevas.

It was the vampires which fascinated him, however. Their brutish foreheads and sunken eyes... and two elongated incisors; They were closer to the movie monsters that so captured Dean's imagination than anything in their reality.

Even more interesting, was these creatures' weaknesses. Not just the sun, but crosses, holy water... many of the things classically connected to movie and novel vampires and demons, but in their experience had no actual use against the vampires they'd been fighting so far.

In the ninth diary, Sam struck gold. There, on the bottom right hand side of the page was an ink sketch. He'd almost missed it on first glance, but the sharp lines of the creature’s cheekbones, visible even within his demonic features, made Sam pull out his phone and compare it to the image Dean had sent.

The sketch intimated a darker hair color... but he doubted that that color of near fluorescent white was all that common outside of a bottle to begin with. There was no mistaking it - this was the vampire in question. Sam paid careful attention to what was written. Yes, his name was William - the Bloody; also known as Spike.

He’d first come to notoriety, and acquired his name, by torturing and then killing his victims with railroad spikes through their heads. At least that’s what was written. Odd, because if Sam knew his history, and he did, he was pretty sure that Britain hadn’t used railroad spikes in the nineteenth century.

Sam checked the shelves for the previous diaries. There were some mentions of an Angelus, as well as his minions and brides. Male and female vampires joined him in his slaughter. The diaries didn't always keep track of specific vampires until one gained enough notoriety in their own right.

It wasn't until nearly nineteen hundred that the vampire he was looking for was actually mentioned by name. The Boxer Rebellion had detailed descriptions of the beast taking advantage of the mayhem in China. Apparently he’d killed a Slayer, which, while noteworthy, failed to have more than a few paragraphs describing the scenario.

The dude was damned scary. Impulsive and prone to attracting fights, leaving nothing but bodies in his wake. Not quite on the level of despicability of his Sire, Angelus, but still... perhaps Benny wasn't wrong in wanting Dean's help. And damn if he didn't just send his brother off without a single offer of assistance.

The demon must have been very crafty to have survived all these years. Dean could be in big trouble, and it was all Sam's fault. Just because of his own damn pride, and refusal to believe that maybe Dean was right to at least listen to Benny. It's not like they had to trust him, but at least consider what he was saying.

He’d made a foolish mistake, and now he had no way to get to Dean. If his brother died because... Sam tried his brother’s number again, but to no avail. Dean wasn’t responding.

Sam paced back and forth, chewing on the cuticle of his thumb. What in the hell could he do? If only transporters were real and not science fiction… except...

"Castiel! If you're listening, I really need your help. Dean needs your help." Silence echoed in the bunker. “Cas... please!" Sam pleaded. The clock on the wall ticked loudly as the seconds passed. All he could do was wait.


	7. Chapter 7

Xander rubbed the small of his back, trying to ease the kink that could only have come from sitting in a bus for hours. It was his own fault; he could have taken the ‘Willow express’, but he needed the (mostly) alone time to get his pleading and groveling in order.

He really wanted to insist that he’d done nothing wrong; all he’d done in his mind’s eye was make love to his woman. Unfortunately, he realized that was not how Dawn saw it. As much as his male pride needed to be salved, her broken heart had to take precedence.

And it was the right thing to do; really it was. Even if he’d never meant to hurt her. He felt filthy just thinking of that imposter’s hands on him; his hands on seemingly familiar breasts; his… 

It took three days of constant whining and begging to get Willow to cough up where Dawn had gone. Even then, she gave him a simplified version of her infamous shovel talk about making things right with Dawn. So when he showed up at the hotel, all sweaty, with a duffel bag slung across his shoulders, he couldn't help but hesitate.

He was about to ask the woman at reception where he could find Dawn Summers and party, when his Sunnydale ear caught sounds of a scuffle. Or maybe a dance competition. One never knew. Anyone else would have the common sense to stay away, but he was born and bred in Sunnydale, so naturally he headed straight towards it. The sound of two phones going off almost at the exact same time rang through the white shuttered doors.

Xander opened the cafe doors and found Spike in full gameface, circling around some strange guy with a crossbow aimed at his heart. At his entrance, all the attention turned to him.

"Sounded like someone holding dance lessons in here, so I thought I’d join," he said, matter-of-factly.

"Don't have time for this now, mate," Spike snarled, turning his attention back to the other guy. "This wanker's got some bug up _his_ arse and wants to take it out on mine."

"Look, whoever you are. I get that Fangface over there tends to hog the dance floor, but I'm pretty sure a couple of my lady friends might be pissed if you dusted him."

"You know this moke?" the guy asked, waving the crossbow in Xander’s direction.

Spike rolled his eyes, which looked really weird in his true face and said, "Name's Xander. He's my girl’s sister’s estranged boyfriend." Turning to Xander he said, "Git trying to end me is Dean. Came off as a phony reporter and then pulled that toy out of his coat."

"Oh come on, dude. Don't you know there's a ton of people lining up to off the bleached wonder? Cutting to the front of the line is bad form.” Xander laughed. “What makes you so special?"

"This is your friend?" Dean asked Spike, confused.

"Harris? Hardly. I just tolerate him for Dawn’s sake. And Buffy’s," he added as an afterthought.

"Yeah right, as if anyone else would tolerate your habit of leaving wet, drippy towels all over the bathroom floor," Xander snarked.

"You two live together? As a couple?" Now Dean looked doubly confused. "I thought you shacked up with blondie."

"Nah, he just stays at my place whenever Buffy kicks him out."

"She doesn't 'kick me out'," Spike growled. "She ever-so-politely asks me to leave so she can have a girl's night. Not my fault your place is somewhat cleaner than the local motel."

"Don’t forget my Ouya gaming station, you vampire geek,” Xander laughed again.

Dean couldn’t stop from chuckling, himself. "You're one weird-assed vampire, you know that, right?"

"You didn't know this and you still want to kill him?" Xander’s eyebrows rose to his hairline while he slowly moved his hand towards the gun in his shoulder holster. He'd stopped being a child a long time ago, and in his peculiar line of work, it was always best to be armed.

"Listen, fellas," Xander said with his hand on the handle of his gun. "Why don't we all just hit a bar and try to settle this without violence?"

Spike shook off his vampire mien and laughed heartily. "Really, Harris? You’ve known me how long and now you’re gonna try to spoil all my fun?” More seriously he said, “I don't think Dean, here, is in the mood for a nice, sociable drink with yours truly.”

"Who, me?" Dean asked. The man sounded cheerful, but Xander could spot the insincerity. Danger practically radiated from his stance. "I'm all for being sociable,” Dean allowed. “Just as soon as the vamp's lost his head."

Xander’s hope for a peaceful solution to this stalemate dwindled each second that went by. "Wanna tell me why you're so insistent on killing him? What'd he do... piss in your cornflakes? Or rather, pour blood in them, since he doesn't..."

"They don't?" Dean seemed surprised and almost curious. "My kind does."

"Your kind of what?" Xander and Spike chorused.

"You know, bloodsuckers, with shark-like teeth, run in packs."

"And this has what-all to do with Spike?" Xander pressed, trying to understand what this was all about.

"A friend of mine gave me the heads up. What can I say, I don't like demons, I don't like vamps, and your buddy over here happens to be both." Dean shook his head, resolve firming on his face.

"And he won the 'kill' lottery because…?" Xander still couldn't understand why this Dean wanted him dead.

"I had nothing better to do. That good enough for you?" The smirk on the guy's face was enough to make Xander want to punch his lights out, much like he wanted to do to Spike from time to time.

"If someone would answer his damned phone, we could have prevented this," a familiar feminine voice rang loud and clear. Dawn followed on her sister's footsteps.

Xander's heart seized up... his love was not happy to see him. He could see it in the way her lips pouted, and a furrow formed between her beautiful, blue eyes."Hi, Dawn," he murmured, holding his arm out towards her automatically.

She ignored it, of course. "What the hell are you doing here, Xander?"

"Uhhhh..."

"And just how the hell did you find me, anyway? Did Willow snitch?" Arms akimbo, Dawn was warming up for a good old-fashioned row.

If Xander didn’t know better, he would have sworn her eyes flashed gold for a moment. But he did. Know better.

"Oh, this is just _wonderful._ Tell you what… why don’t you call me when the Oprah hour is over." Dean grumbled, his hand fumbling for something inside his coat.

"You got any more weapons in there and I'll rip out your throat before you can blink." Spike's look was coldly furious.

“Spike,” Buffy’s voice softly warned.

Xander recognized the ‘Who, me?’ look on Dean's face, but he wasn't about to fall for it. Neither was Buffy who had stepped between Spike and Dean. 

"I had a little talk with your friend, Mr. Winchester. I’m giving you exactly thirty seconds to explain why I shouldn't call the cops and tell them that a wanted mass murderer is threatening my boyfriend's life in a public place.”

This time it was Dean's turn to be flummoxed, and Xander’s attention moved from Dean, to Buffy, Spike and Dawn as if he was watching a tennis match.

“Benny?” Dean practically croaked. “You spoke to Benny?"

And now the implied threat was on the other foot, because Xander recognized Buffy’s tone, as well. It was the one she used when someone threatened any member of the Scooby gang, or more importantly, Dawn or Spike.

"That she did, Brother." A tall, bearded man stepped through the doors.

This little hole-in-the-wall had suddenly become Grand Central Station.

Xander noticed Dean sigh in relief, until he spotted the newcomer's hands fastened behind his back with a plastic tie.

***

Poor Dawn, Buffy thought. This so wasn't the time for relationship drama. That's what they'd come to New Orleans to avoid.

As if sensing her sister's thoughts, Dawn chose that exact moment to stomp out of the patio in a fit of pique. With a look of resolve and determination, Xander followed her.

Buffy couldn’t understand what he’d hoped to accomplish by showing up like this, unannounced. To make matters worse, she couldn’t go after them to keep the damage to a minimum because Sharktooth was the least of her problems on the patio.

Nobody threatened Spike – not without a good reason these days, which usually meant her, when Spike left his bloody mugs in the sink, unwashed. For a brief moment, she wondered if this Winchester was more than human. Looks could be deceiving, after all, and he was standing under the cover of the awning. Then again, not all monsters were vulnerable to the sun.

She had to do something - say something. This needed to end, now, before innocent people became involved in their mess. Winchester seemed to be checking her out, and the way his eyes lingered over her breasts, she didn't think it was about assessing her battle prowess.

Spike noticed, as well. His growl was loud enough for all to hear.

Dean just grinned at that. Buffy glared at Spike, making it clear he needed to stand down and follow her lead. The guy was just winding him up and she knew Spike well enough to know just how easy that was.

Slowly, deliberately, Buffy folder her arms across her chest. "I'm not a bone to be fought over, you idiots," she snarled, though she shot a smile over to Spike to soften her words. "We have more important things to discuss."

"Oh really?" The sarcasm dripped from smirking lips as Dean continued his unwanted perusal. 

Buffy fought the urge to lift her arms a bit to more fully cover her breasts."Back down, mister," she snarled. "Why don’t you tell me what brings a dead mass murderer after me and mine?"

"I'm not after you, Princess," Dean chuckled. "I'm after that bloodsucking bastard with you."

"So it's ok for you to hang out with a bloodsucker but not me?" Buffy was incredulous. “And I’m still waiting for an explanation about the mass murderer sitch.”

"Benny doesn't kill," Dean insisted. "And he asked for my help because he knew firsthand what kind of damage your 'boyfriend' can cause."

“First of all, I meant you,” Buffy snorted. Men could be so thick at times. “And you mean that because Benny’s still freaked out after all these years that Spike killed his family, it’s okay for you to take up his vendetta? Did Benny mention that he was talking about his vampire family?"

"Well, duh!" Dean’s expression could have marked him as a Sunnydale native. "But a vampire family that was lying low... under the radar."

Benny coughed discreetly.

"You have something to add to this, Benny?" Buffy asked. Might as well hear from all parties. That's what she'd brought him here for, anyway.

"Uhm, Dean… this was before I met Andrea,” the vampire looked embarrassed, looking at the floor. “We weren't exactly saints."

"Oh yeah, the vampirate shtick."

"Vampirate?" Buffy couldn't help the grin that broke out on her face.

"Benny's old nest had this thing. They were vamps and pirates, vampirates."

Buffy suppressed a shudder when the image of Xander with fangs flitted across her mind.

“On behalf of vampires everywhere, I am highly embarrassed,” Spike grumbled.

"Okay... tell me this, Benny," Buffy said, turning to look at the bearded vampire. "You've been carrying this grudge with Spike for many years. If you can tell me you've never killed in your past, I'll step aside and let you fight."

"Can't say that." Benny admitted. It didn't seem to surprise Dean, either.

"Well I know he hasn't killed anyone human since he died," Dean said in defense of his friend.

Buffy's brow furrowed. "Now color me confused. Benny never killed a human? Not once? What do you mean, he died? He’s a vampire, so that makes sense – a human death. Unless you’re talking about vampire death, which would have left him nothing but dusty? This whole thing is giving me a headache."

Benny shifted uncomfortably. "I gave up on killing humans about fifty years ago. And then my maker cut off my head. I met Dean in Purgatory."

"Really? So you actually died, too? Mind telling me who resurrected you both?" The mere mention of _that_ word caused a shiver to crawl up Buffy’s spine. “You know what? I don't really care. Just tell me - was this the first, second or third time you 'supposedly’ died?" Faking one’s own death didn’t sit well on someone who had actually died twice in less than thirty years.

"According to my brother, over a hundred times. I’ve sorta lost count." Dean said, jokingly.  
Buffy took offence to his light-hearted attitude. "And here I thought Spike and I were unique with two actual deaths to our names."

“Don’t get snippy, Princess,” the man laughed. “It’s easy. All you have to do is catch the interest of the archangel Gabriel, and you’ll see how many times he can Groundhog Day you."

“Now we're talking archangels? Angels aren't even real," Buffy snorted. Sounded like someone was trying to pull her leg. “Well, I know someone named Angel, but he’s no angel.”

“Try telling that to the grand pooftah,” Spike muttered, sotto voce, earning a well-earned glare from his girl.

"Keep on believing that, sweetheart. See how long you last." Dean sounded cocky, too cocky, in Buffy’s opinion. She would just love to take him down a peg or three.

"You know... it doesn't matter,” she huffed, annoyed. “Any of this. What's past is past, and if nobody is killing humans anymore, then this vendetta thing needs to be dropped."

"See, I know vamps. Sure they're dangerous, but some part of them is still human. Demons like your boy though, they’re all evil, and the only time they don't lie, is when the truth hurts worse.” Dean folded his arms over his chest, looking smug.

"I knew vamps, too," Buffy admitted. "Or I thought I did, until I met Angel. The original vampire with a soul." She looked to Spike, who uncharacteristically stayed silent. "And then I met Spike, who threw every bit of knowledge out the window, both soulless and souled versions."

"A demon?" Dean laughed her revelations off. "You can't trust them. My brother trusted a demon once, and she led him straight to setting off the apocalypse."

"And _my_ demon helped to avert quite a few apocalypses."

"Don’t really need to defend me, love," Spike said quietly.

"Yeah, big strong thing like that doesn't need to hide behind a little thing like you."

That's all it took... she'd had enough. Buffy stood nose to well, chin, and demanded. "You might want to rethink that statement, buster.” When that only made Dean's smirk wider, she grabbed his hand and flipped him over her shoulder. She planted her stylish, yet affordable boot on his chest.

Before she could press her advantage, a sharp, piercing scream caught her attention from just inside the hotel, followed by Xander’s frantic shouting.

“No. No! No!”

Quickly abandoning her ‘victim,’ she and Spike ran inside, quickly followed by the others. She found Xander on his knees, surrounded by strangers trying to comfort the man.

"What happened, Xan?” Buffy asked, worry lines creasing her forehead. “Where's Dawn?"

"He came out of nowhere. One minute there was nothing and then this guy shows up, dressed in a trench coat and he grabs her, and then they just... disappeared."

“Cas?” Dean called out, searching through the crowd of people.

Buffy felt a familiar knot of panic building in her stomach… the turmoil only Dawn could cause.

It must be Tuesday.


	8. Chapter 8

Why does this keep happening to her? One minute she’s having a well-deserved fit, and the next, she’s who knows where. Without a simple by-your-leave, this unassuming man in a beige trench coat approached her, put his hand on her shoulder and suddenly she wasn’t in Kansas any longer.

Dawn blinked and looked around. She wasn’t freaked out about the instant transportation. After all, she was used to Willow employing it in emergency situations. However, this wasn’t an emergency – at least, not hers. Trenchcoat was talking to a floppy-haired guy who didn’t seem happy to see him… or her, if his wild gesticulations were any indication.

Both men approached her, and Dawn realized Floppy Hair was tall. Like freakishly tall. He stood about a foot taller than her. Now she knew that at five feet, seven and a half inches in her stocking feet, she was nowhere near model tall, but in their little group, except for Xander, she was taller than most everyone else. Buffy, at five feet, almost two inches, made Dawn feel like a giant. She was maybe just a smidgeon taller than Spike, unless she was wearing heels. This guy looked like a freaking giraffe.

“You must look after her,” Trench Coat said, pointing in her direction. “She’s a source of great power and…”

“Oh for…,” Dawn interrupted, finally speaking up for herself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just a normal girl.”

“No, you are not.”

“Who the hell are you to pass judgment, buster?” Dawn had to suppress the child-like urge she had to stomp her foot and stick out her tongue. “And where do you get off poofing me away from my family to… to… who knows where?”

“I am an angel of the Lord.”

“Oh. My. God! Why is it that I attract all the loonies?” She looked helplessly at Floppy Hair, hoping he was the more sane of the pair. “And who are you? A basketball player of the lord?”

“My name’s Sam,” he said. “And it’s true. Castiel,” he said, pointing to Trenchcoat, “is an angel.”

Dawn could do obstinate with the best of them. “Where are his wings if he’s an angel?”

Castiel stood tall, straightening his shoulders. The rustle of wings could be heard, though not seen.

“Oh!”

“You’ll have to forgive my lack of manners,” Sam said, offering Dawn a seat. “It’s just I’m used to folks popping in and out on us. What’s your name?”

“Dawn,” she replied, figuring last names weren’t on offer, so didn’t bother to reveal hers. “You do realize my sister and her boyfriend are going to do some major damage to you guys for kidnapping me? Snatching _the_ Slayer’s sister is still a really, really bad idea… for the snatcher, that is.” She put her hands on the table, staring at the two strangers. “What do you want with me, anyway? If I’m to be your Queen, that’s already been done.” She half-smiled, half-sneered – a look that tended to send the newbie Slayers scurrying for safety. 

“That didn’t end so well,” she said, falsely sweet.

"Who the hell are you, Sam-I-am?" she continued. The guy seemed confused, and more than a little annoyed. That was understandable. After all, it’s not like he knew her, yet.

"What possibly gave you the idea that I’d want to marry you?" Sam asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. That little action reminded her of Giles, after losing a battle with her sister over something or other.

"Well, you're the one who had your feathered minion kidnap me," she answered.

Sam turned to stare down the angel – Cas-something-or-other. Dawn realized he was more annoyed at his friend, than he was at her. "Why did you bring her here? Is she another prophet?” he asked.

 _A prophesy?_ Not one of the Summers’ favorite portents. Dawn stood up and scowled, trying to look her most menacing.

"She's an eons-old compilation of mystical energy – a key. She needs to be protected from Naomi and Crowley, at the very least. If either of those two were to get their hands on her, the world – all of existence – might well be in jeopardy."

Dawn rolled her eyes. After all these years, normalcy was still out of reach. No wonder Buffy used to yearn to be one of the crowd, instead of the Chosen one.

Without another word, Castiel disappeared, leaving Dawn alone with Sam, who stood up and walked over to her. She stood there, face-to-chin, not a position she was used to.

"The Key?" Sam asked, looking at her, warily. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"Uhm nothing, really. I have no idea what he’s talking about, and neither does he," she said.

"Nice try, Dawn.” The man sighed, shaking his head slightly. “But somehow that doesn't convince me.” He looked her over from top to bottom, but definitely in a non-sexual way. Certainly not in the way Dean… “Cas knows better than to bring someone here unless it’s of major importance.”

Sam moved slightly closer and if she thought she'd overestimated his size before, his proximity only made him loom larger. She wondered if she’d get a nosebleed if she stared at him for any length of time.

"Look... Dawn," Sam said. "It’s obvious we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I’m sorry about Cas. He tends to be a bit abrupt. He's not really comfortable with humans. Not to mention the whole popping you from wherever you were to here."

“You think?” she retorted, mocking him. "Look, yourself. I have a sister who's going to kick your ass across the room if you don't let me get back to her. She's probably already sharpening her sword as we speak. And…” She looked around, suddenly noticing all the books, the large table – the place sort of reminded her of the Magic Box’s library section. 

“What I mean is that he didn’t harm you. He genuinely believed you’re in danger and thought this was the safest place to bring you.”

“Just where in the hell am I, anyway?”

"Where were you?" Sam countered.

"New Orleans." she answered, crossing her arms and glaring at him.

Sam was about to say something, but obviously thought the better of it. Maybe he was a smart guy, after all. 

"You know, this whole 'key' business is old. Really, it's all played out. Some skanky old Hellgod tried to use me to end the world when I was a kid, but she's gone. My sister killed her," Dawn said, trying to reinforce the fact that he was so in trouble when she was found, "There is no more keyness to worry about."

That seemed to stop him for a moment, until...

"A few years ago, my brother and I stopped a demon named Azazel from using a 'special child' for some plan of his. We thought it was over, too. Turns out, Azazel wasn't the only one out there looking for that kid."

The timbre of his voice and his body language combined to tell Dawn that there had to be more to what he was saying; something he wasn't telling her. "And then two years later, we ended up smack in the middle of the whole shebang and we realized that Azazel’s involvement was only the tip of the iceberg.

"I get that you think that this ‘key’ thing might be over and done with, but if Castiel could feel your ‘keyness’, so would other angels. Trust me… they're not nearly as nice as Cas, nor are they the good and gentle beings stories claim."

Dawn had had enough. All she wanted was to get back to her sister and Spike… and Xander, even if she hadn't forgiven him yet. And she was worried about their confrontation with that Dean character. Spike was _theirs_ , and nobody else got to threaten him.

"Okay, fine. But I'm not just gonna sit around here being all 'protected'. I have family and friends who'll be missing me.” Dawn reached into her pocket for her phone. “Where the hell are we, anyway?” she asked, finger poised to punch in the familiar digits.

"We’re in Lebanon, Kansas," Sam finally replied.

Dawn chuckled quietly. Seemed like she _was_ still in Kansas, after all.

***

Dean found himself hanging by his shirt in the grip of the one-eyed man, nose-to-nose with his fury.

"What the fuck did you do with my girlfriend, you bastard?" Xander yelled, spittle hitting Dean in the face.

Dean kept his mouth shut. He knew the type of guy he was dealing with. This was the kind of guy who would only become angrier when confronted with a smart ass, and he was too pissed off and worried about his girlfriend to listen to the truth. And for once, Dean had no intentions of exacerbating the situation.  
He was being shaken like a rag doll, as if somehow the answers would fall out of his pockets.

"Xander, if you brain damage him, he won't be able to tell you anything," Buffy tried.

The guy finally let go and Dean gasped for air. "I didn't do anything to her," Dean rasped, rubbing his neck where the shirt had abraded his skin.

"You know summat about her disappearance," Spike insisted. "Called out someone's name... like you knew who'd taken her."

 _Damn it, Cas._ Dean closed his eyes and concentrated on the angel, hoping he would make a re-appearance. But he'd never been good at any kind of praying, so he wasn't quite sure if Cas would actually hear him.

"I did?" was all he said, hoping they'd forget about it.

Buffy's phone sounded loudly from her pocket, the driving strains of Cry Little Sister made her scramble to answer it.

With a sigh, Dean hoped the call was good news. Let her get her sister back, and take the edge of this confrontation.

***

What were the odds that he’d be heading back to the bunker with Benny in tow? It wasn’t even on his list of probabilities when he started this mission, and now he had an entourage. Sam was just gonna love having _two_ vampires of the no-kill variety in their sanctuary. For the moment, he was glad that neither one was in the car with him.

Dean couldn’t help but admire the plucky, little blonde sitting in the passenger seat. She was strong; she could fight, and most importantly, had a deep and abiding love for her younger sister. That, he could understand. Dean had always put Sammy before anything else in his life, even when it cost him… everything.

Her vampire boyfriend was another thing, entirely. He had to concede one could strike up a friendship with a vampire. After all, he had feelings for Benny; complicated feelings. When the vampire called him ‘Brother,’ it sent a warmth through his gut he couldn’t quite explain. But an inter-species sexual relationship? That seemed like taking things just a bit far. He shuddered as the image of Sam and Ruby rolling around in bed played through his mind. Made him want to hurl. As for Cas… that was different. Cas was more like long-distance family; out of reach except in an emergency.

The silence was beginning to grate on his nerves, and he really didn’t know what to say to Buffy, (and what kind of name was _Buffy_ anyway? Especially for a Hunter?) Dean reached across the girl (woman). When she flinched, he said, “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Princess. I’m just looking for some music to pass the time.” He rummaged through the glove compartment and pulled out a cassette.

“What century are you from?” she asked, looking at the cassette with disdain. “The stone age? Cassettes are practically antiques.”

“Never you mind, Missy,” Dean said, as he turned up the volume and _Eye of the Tiger_ resonated through the Impala.

Buffy just shook her head in amusement. “Seems your musical taste is antique as well.”

“At least the stuff I like isn’t auto-tuned,” Dean retorted. “You probably like Justin Beiber.”

"Oh my god," she said, rolling her eyes. "You sound just like Spike! ‘You wouldn't know good music if it jumped up and bit you on the arse', she mimicked in a horrid British accent. “As for Justin Beiber? Please…” she shuddered. “Even I have limits. I’m pretty sure he’s a demon, anyway.”

"What then, Britney Spears? Paris Hilton? I got to cut her head off with an ax once. Best slicing I've ever done in my life."

"Paris Hilton is a demon?"

"Can't actually say yes or no on that one for sure, but we had this pagan god turn into her because some people apparently 'worship’ her."

"Huh! Just what is this world coming to when cultural icons are demons?"

"Seems it’s on a bus straight to hell, is what I'd say," Dean answered. "At times it feels like the world just wants to end. We've barely stopped one apocalypse, and the next seems to start right up."

Buffy grimaced. "The one's I've dealt with usually happen in May."

"That's usually around the time something finally ends, or someone dies in our experience."

"My sister had better be safe with your brother,” Buffy said, suddenly jumping topics. “Is he as much of a pain in the ass as you?"

"My brother wouldn't harm a hair on her head," Dean insisted. “Of course, if _she_ sleeps with him… all bets are off. Sam has notoriously bad luck with women.”

If looks could kill, Dean knew he’d be flayed open by now. Buffy’s hackles were raised and she looked ready to tear him apart.

“If he lays one finger on Dawn, Spike will eviscerate him… slowly,” she threatened. “Then I’ll have my friend Willow bring him back so I can kill him, myself.”

“Whoa! Simmer down there, Xena,” Dean tried to diffuse the rising tension. “Listen – Sam’s a total sweetheart. If it weren’t for the time he lost his soul, he wouldn’t have gotten laid in years. It’s just that half the time he sleeps with a woman, sooner or later they turn out to be demons… or they die.” After a second’s hesitation, he added, “Or both. And for the record… your fangy friend lays a hand on Sammy, I’d cut him to pieces with a dull spoon.”

Buffy relaxed marginally, nodding to herself. “We’ve got a demon magnet in our group, as well. That would be Dawn’s boyfriend… though the attraction seems to have lessened as he’s gotten older. And even if they’re not speaking to each other right now, he’d protect Dawn with his life.”

“I get that,” Dean said, thinking of Cassie, or Lisa and Ben. For some reason, he needed to build his brother up. “My brother and I beat the devil, once. One vamp and his minion are nothing compared to that. We take care of our own.”

“ _My_ vamp and my friends helped me defeat a Hell God… and I died in the process and my friends brought me back.”

Dean snorted. “Who hasn’t died at least once?”

“My sister, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Glaring at Buffy, he thought, _“Hold it over me that you're better at keeping your sister alive than I am with Sam."_ He kept his mouth shut, not willing to add more fuel to this particular fire.  
Buffy ejected the cassette and fiddled around with the radio dial.

“Hey, woman! Car rules,” Dean blurted out, indignant. “Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his… _her_ cakehole.”

“And your brother has my sister. I win!” Buffy said, continuing to change stations until she was satisfied with something more to her liking.

***

What did he ever do to the karma fairy for his life to end up this way, Xander wondered? One hundred percent all-American human being here, stuck in a car with a snarky British vampire and a laid-back Southern vampire, chasing an angel and his girlfriend half a country away. He rolled his eyes, looking heavenward. He’d been a good boy… mostly.

He really, really was getting too old for this shit.

"I never should have let her get in the car with that git," Spike grumbled for the umpteenth time since they set out for Kansas.

Xander couldn’t contain his mirth at Spike’s expense. “You have got to be kidding me, oh bleached wonder. Even you have to see the stupidity of what you just said.” Kicking the back of the driver’s seat, he continued, “Do you really think Buffy couldn’t handle herself against a single human?”

Spike wouldn’t be mollified. “What if he gets it into his head that the Slayer is less than human? She’d just be someone else for him to try and take out.”

“What if it rains next Tuesday?”

“Are you insane?” Spike was incredulous. “What does the weather have to do with anything, you arse?”

“Just sayin’ she’d kick his ass if he tried anything. You know our Buffster.”

“I wouldn’t underestimate Dean,” the vampire in the back seat had to add his two cents to the discussion. “The man survived a year in Purgatory. At least half the demons trapped with us were trying to tear him to pieces to be cooked over a low burning fire.” 

Spike and Xander both turned as Benny spoke. “You’re not helping,” Xander said, trying to keep Spike from crawling into the back seat. “This car won’t drive itself, you know, and I’d like to get to my woman in one piece.”

“Dunno what I’m worryin’ about,” Spike nodded, eyes narrowing in contemplation. “My girl destroyed a Hell God,” he said, defending Buffy’s honor.

“Dean kicked Lucifer’s ass back into the pit.” Benny looked a bit smug.

Xander rolled his eyes. "And my dad can beat up your dad. Really, fellas," Xander said, chuckling. "You sound like a couple of five year olds in a playground. I’m sure Buffy can take care of herself and Dean wouldn’t be foolish enough to take her on in a moving vehicle. Not that I know the man,” he admitted, “but he doesn’t look exceptionally stupid.”

Neither vamp seemed totally satisfied.

“Dean wouldn’t harm the girl. He’s got a white knight complex; his mission in life is to protect the innocent.” Benny insisted, his eyes wide with clear adoration.

“Hey! That’s _my_ job description!” Xander huffed, shrinking in on himself just a little when both vampires stared at him. “No worries, I can share.” 

Spike snorted derisively, not deigning to give the other vampire the simple courtesy. “He’d better not try.”

Silence fell, lasting long enough for the car to exit New Orleans. Xander finally relaxed into it, listening to the radio, even though Spike had picked the station, but it didn’t last long. He never knew when to keep his mouth shut as a kid, and that hadn't changed as he'd grown older. "In my wildest dreams, I'd never imagined being stuck in a car with two vampires... that didn't eat humans."

"Don't tempt me."Spike said, idly eying the bitten cuticles on his nails. "I still remember you telling me you were moist and delicious."

"Just keep your eyes on the road, buster - still alive here, and I'd like to keep it that way, understand?"

"So is it you and the Slayer, or you and the boy here?" the southern vampire said with a honeyed drawl that would melt the panties off a nun. No way was Xander gonna let Dawn near him. Then again, it sounded like the guy had the hots for mister stubble.

"Not. A. Word," Xander said, poking Spike in the shoulder for emphasis with each syllable.

"One more poke and I'll happily fall off the wagon," Spike threatened.

"I’m not quite clear how you got on the wagon." Benny said, "Your kind being soulless. You were a bloodthirsty beast when we met before – you and your woman.”

"Wasn't my idea in the first place," Spike grudgingly admitted. "But circumstances and a good woman helped."

“They can be our guiding lights, for truth.” The vamp sounded wistful, which made Xander wonder if he was just imagining things. If all the vampires in the world fell in love, life would be easier for everyone, he mused. But that wasn't gonna happen, was it?

Hmm, maybe he should share his idea with Willow, have her do a love spell, see how many vampires ended up reforming... Nah, he shook his head. Done the love spell thing before, and that hadn't turned out well, had it? With their luck, the vampires would suddenly want to turn all the humans instead of reforming for them. 

Sometimes Xander couldn't help but wonder what had made Spike so ... different. And why someone like Jesse could just forget a life time of friendship. Apparently, this Benny had fallen in love, as well.

He remembered vamped Willow. Another person with the dearest of hearts who should have been better than the demon, and wasn't. There were times he guessed that was the main reason he'd hated Spike for so long. Because if the two people he'd loved most in his entire life weren't able to hold on to that love as vampires, then how was he supposed to believe that someone like Spike, could?

Not to mention Angel and his disappearing soul, and the pain he’d caused to one and all.

Maybe it wasn't that he didn't so much as believe Spike had some humanity in him, as much as he was jealous of him for it.

"So how'd _you_ satisfy your bloodlust?" Spike asked Benny. "Thought your kind would kill for a drop of the ruby red."

"We do, and I did." Xander turned to look at Benny, who had closed his eyes, smiling softly as he seemed to get lost in his memories. "My nest would scope out luxury yachts, wait for them to sail out of the harbor and then attack and kill everyone on board.

"One day, I was looking for prey, and I saw this beautiful woman, Andrea. At first I just considered turning her. We tend to mate for life and she was... but when we talked, I mean really talked, I realized just how much she loved life, being alive… people, and I realized how much I loved that about her. Turning her, making her into one of us, would kill the spark inside of her that made her the woman I fell in love with."

Xander expected Spike to say something, but he didn't. He just stared at the car in front of them. The one with Buffy in it.

“Instead,” Benny continued, “I told her the truth of what I was, and the two of us ran off. I didn't dare face my maker and tell him I was going. When he found out... it wasn't pretty."

“He killed you," Xander said. It wasn’t a question.

"Had some of my nest-mates cut my head off. I was sure he'd kill Andrea, too. He didn't take betrayal well.”

"And yet you're here. In the undead flesh," Spike added. “Curiouser and curiouser.”

"Thanks to Dean."

"So he's willing to kill Spike for killing other vampires, but he didn't mind bringing another vampire back to undead status?" Try as he might, Xander couldn’t understand Benny’s reasoning. Or Dean’s, for that matter.

"Dean's... loyal," Benny insisted. That word carried so much more feeling than its definition; far more than it was supposed to.

Xander wondered about Dean, what kind of powers he had. All the heroes had super powers, didn’t they? He used to wish he could be one of them, but then again, he was the sidekick, and he’d come to terms with that many years ago.


	9. Chapter 9

Naomi was _this_ close to throwing a full-out tantrum of angelic proportions. “How _dare_ he?” How dare Castiel be such a thorn in her side? No matter what his instructions, no matter the severity of his punishments, he continually thwarted her plans with his damned free will. The insignificant little worm... he was her toy, her blank slate - to be used over and over again as she saw fit.

It was like he simply didn't understand that heaven needed order to function, or he had plans of his own, which was worse.

She couldn't even put the blame for his behavior on the Winchesters. Castiel had been like this long before he'd pulled Dean Winchester out of hell. It was one of the reasons he'd gotten to the Righteous Man in the first place. No matter how many times she'd purged his memory, he was never the tool she needed him to be.

Why didn't he understand that life would be so much easier for him, if he just gave in and tried to do as he was asked? Life would be easier for everyone if they'd just bend to her will.

All one had to do was look around and see all the chaos currently overtaking heaven. Someone needed to step up - to take the reins - especially since Father seemed to have abandoned them.

Naomi had served the archangels since the dawn of time, and though they had their faults, at least they kept order… they kept the peace. Under their command, heaven had had purpose. Not this mess that factions upon factions caused; all fighting for some measure of control.

That angel tablet would bring things to a head... focus on a true leader. Even if it meant trapping them all together until they came to see reason - her reason. She didn't care that they thought she just wanted power. She already had power. What she wanted was to save them all. Was that such a terrible thing?

How that worthless scum managed to stay hidden infuriated her. Naomi looked up when Ion and Esper appeared in front of her desk. "Have you found him yet?" she demanded of her two minions.

"We thought we did,” Ion reported. “For a brief moment, his presence became known, and then he simply vanished once again."

"Where?" Naomi could hear the rising desperation in her own voice, and it sickened her.

"New Orleans," said Esper. "There's more. The reason we found him; I sensed its presence."

"It?"

"The Key."

“That's impossible,” Naomi fumed. “The Key has been missing for eons. It’s considered mythical by some, so long has it been missing.”

Ion straightened his shoulders, preparing to defend his findings. "It was undeniable. There's nothing in the universe that feels like it. When Castiel came in contact with it, both presences became known to us. And they both disappeared without a trace."

"Castiel has the Key. And he has the damned Angel tablet. Find them," she roared. "Find them before I end you both."

The very thought of two such powerful artifacts in the hands of someone as unreliable as Castiel terrified her. Asking the Winchesters for help would be fruitless. They wouldn’t trust her; even if she could convince them she was telling the truth. If the Winchesters got their hands on the Key, there was nothing keeping them from destroying heaven altogether, even accidentally. 

And once Heaven was destroyed... there would be Hell on earth.

***

“So this is your home base? A hole in the wall?” Buffy couldn’t believe this cave would hold anything of importance. “From your description, I thought it would be a fortress.”

"It's larger on the inside." Dean answered.

Buffy rolled her eyes. She wouldn't admit she actually liked watching _Doctor Who_ , all cuddled up on the sofa with Spike. The picky vampire would never let her live it down.

"Well, let us see what's inside," she said, watching as Dean fumbled in his pockets for a key, and coming up empty.

Using standard operating procedure (for her), Buffy reared back and slammed her foot into the bunker’s door, and only succeeded in breaking the heel off her shoe.

"Hey" Dean shouted. "Is that any way to break into a man's home?"

"Well how else are we supposed to get in? You’ve obviously forgotten your keys."

"You could have just knocked," a calm voice answered as the door opened. Looming before her was a veritable giant of a man with long hair. Kind of what she'd imagine Thor to look like, if he were real.

Buffy really needed to stop hanging around Andrew, the geek. Hands on her hips, she craned her neck and leveled flashing hazel eyes at him."

"I thought you said he was with your 'little brother',” she spat at Dean. They obviously grew them big in the Winchester family. “Where the hell is my sister," she demanded.

The giant looked bemused. "She's in the library."

Buffy turned towards the door to see Xander enter, Spike and Benny right behind him.

"Benny?" the giant fumed. "You had to bring him here, as well?"

After a quick double-take at the man’s anger, she realized it was aimed at Dean.

"She,” he said, indicating Buffy, “was holding him hostage. Don't start, Sammy," Dean replied, caught somewhere between irritation and embarrassment.

For a moment, Buffy felt sorry for Dean, remembering all too well the fear she had about her loved ones’ reactions when Spike came into her life; when Spike became her life. And if she read her vampires right… there was more there than met the eye.

"This little pipsqueak? You have got to be kidding."

"Do you really want a beatdown?" Buffy snarled. "I could show your 'little' brother just what a _pipsqueak_ can do." Anger replaced whatever she’d been feeling; now she just wanted to smack this… Sammy. Stupid name for a giant. Just a little ass-kicking would make her feel so much better.

"Buffy!" Dawn's squeal was followed by her exuberant hug. "You have got to see the books they have here."  
She was dragged halfway down the hallway before she realized that Spike wasn't following. _Duh!_ "You need to invite Spike in," she said to Dean, watching as Benny waltzed in, no barrier impeding his way. "You know he's not going to hurt anyone."

"Says you," the vampire in question snorted. "If this git harmed one hair on Dawn's head..."

"You're not helping, sweetie," Buffy replied. "Don't scare the man into leaving you on the outside and away from us all."

Sam shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea, Dean. I've been reading up on the guy. He's dangerous. He's exactly the type of monster that the Men of Letters died to keep out of this place. Sunlight's what... an hour away? I'm sure he can find accommodations somewhere else in that time."

Buffy glared at Sam. His attitude grated on her last nerve. After all, it wasn’t like she and Spike were here for the hospitality. This was a rescue mission, although the damsel in question didn’t seem like she was being held captive.

"He can come in," said Dean, something in his tone not quite hospitable. There was tension in the set of his shoulders, as if he were waiting for something.

"Have to be a bit more direct, git," Spike said calmly, though his hands were clenched in fists.

"I hereby invite you in, Spike," Dean said, sketching a bow as he sneered. "Is that better, Princess?"

She didn't answer, crossing her arms, ready for whatever Dean was up to.

"Oi!" Buffy's head snapped around at Spike’s exclamation. He stood just inside the doorway, unable to enter further.

"What kind of bullshit is this?" she fumed.

It's a Devil's Trap," Dean said, pointing out the pentagram inlaid on the floor's tiles. "Meant to keep demons from having access to our resources. Seems like you were right about calling them demonvamps, Benny."

"Demon vamps?" Sam asked, curiosity piqued. For a moment, Buffy was reminded of Giles.

Dean circled the trap, looking Spike up and down; reappraising the vampire. "They're like a demons/vampire hybrid. I wanted to see if their kind would be trappable, like those black-eyed sons of bitches."

"The Men of Letters were very smart when they constructed this place," Sam chimed in with his two cents.   
"Never take chances with demons," he sneered, looking both at Spike and Benny.

"You've got to be kidding me." Spike growled as he tried to punch his way out of the trap’s constraints.

"You're not going anywhere," said Dean. "There's no way out unless the trap is broken."

"So you got no problem with Benny-boy waltzing free among your personals?" Spike grumbled.

"I trust Benny, you... not so much." Dean said, but it was obvious that his brother didn't agree.

"Enough of this crap," Buffy said, obviously fed up. "Let Spike go."

"Was just rattling your chains, "Slayer," Dean said and kneeled, removing several tiles to break the pattern of the trap.

"Slayer?"

"My bad for not introducing you. Sammy? This is Buffy, the Vampire Slayer," Dean laughed.

"Really?" Sam seemed to perk up as Dean said that. "After reading all those diaries, I thought for sure she'd be... taller. Maybe a bit more Valkyrie-like."

"Looks can be deceiving." Sam found himself under the heel of Buffy's shoe, much to Dean's and Spike’s delight.

Sam was floored, literally.

"Oh come on, Buffy, stop showing off." Dawn still stood in the hallway that probably led to the library. Buffy looked around, checking to make sure there weren't any other surprises waiting for them. As much as that trap bothered her in regards to Spike, it oddly made her less worried that Dawn was here.

Not that she was happy about the way she'd been whisked away with so much as a by-your-leave. But at least this place seemed to be well secured.

Buffy followed her sister down the hallway and entered the library. Though she wasn't into books like Dawn and Willow were, she could see why her sister was excited. The place reminded her strangely enough of Giles’ library at Sunnydale High. Lots of warm wooden shelving, stuffed with dusty old tomes.

There was nobody more at home with books than Dawn.

"Sam's been really helpful," Dawn said, which relaxed Buffy the slightest bit more. "He has no idea why that guy in the coat brought me here, either."

Dean ran his fingers through his hair and said, “For Cas to bring your sister here, he had to have a good reason. He doesn’t hurt people, he protects them.”

"Oh! And he's an angel," Dawn gushed. "A real life, honest-to-god angel. With wings and everything!"

“Shyeah, right," Buffy snorted in disbelief. She could believe that the Winchesters thought the guy was an angel; she'd met some pretty looking demons before, thinking fondly of her vampire.

Dawn’s indignant squawk ratcheted up the decibel level of her voice. "What? We can have werewolves, and ubervamps and all different types of demons, and you mock angels?"

"Like leprechauns, there's no such thing," Buffy insisted, remembering the very first thing Giles told her about the world and how it was run by demons before the rise of animals and humanity.

"There are." A flat voice came from behind her, and Buffy turned around to see a man in a tan trench coat.

Buffy gave the man her sternest glare. _This is an angel?_ she thought. _He looks like that crumpled guy from her mom’s old detective show._ "No way," she insisted. “If angels are real, why do they allow demons to roam free and wreak havoc, killing innocent people?” _Why did my mom die, or why did a monster like Warren murder Tara?_

"Angels aren't genies, Miss Summers. They don't go around granting wishes."

“Then what are you good for?” Buffy tried not to let on how startled she was that this man knew her name.

“That’s him!” she heard Xander shout. “That’s the bastard who kidnapped Dawn.”

"We are warriors; guardians of God's creation. We follow our Father's orders. Or at least, that's what we were supposed to do."

The newcomer sounded almost defeated as he said that.

"Angel, huh?" Spike sauntered close. "Have the same bad hair as the only Angel I know."

Both Xander and Dawn snickered before Dawn moved closer to her sister, obviously still upset with her boyfriend.

“His name is Castiel,” Sam offered, speaking to Dawn. “His interpersonal skills are somewhat lacking.”

Spike was just being himself, gleeful – standing up against the guy that had grabbed his Bit. Though he didn't look like he was spoiling for a fight, he didn't seem ready to leave him alone, either.  
Buffy could understand that.

Castiel, on the other hand, got right up in Spike’s face. "Remove yourself, abomination."

"Remove yourself, git."

"Spike," Buffy quietly warned.

But Spike was already poking at the angel before she could stop him. Buffy could hear the sizzle and the smell of burning vampire flesh filled the room.

"You cannot touch me, unclean thing." 

"Oh, god!" Buffy grabbed Spike before he could hurt himself again, inasmuch as the only one he was hurting was himself. _Maybe this Castiel really was an angel,_ she mused. Holy, like crosses, which is why they both burned vampires. Even those with souls. Maybe she should have taken religion more seriously when she was a kid. Oops? _Sorry, God._

"Nothing you haven't called me before, love," Spike murmured softly, taking the sting out of her younger self’s behavior.

"Are you okay?" she asked, checking his hands, worried over the blistering she found there. Memories of the time he'd thrown himself at the giant cross in church flooded her mind.

"M'fine, kitten. See?" he said, holding up his hands. "They're almost healed."

"Why do you burn?" Dean asked Spike. "Meg didn't burn when she touched Cas," was aimed at his brother.

"The demon possessing Meg was far more powerful than those found in these abominations."

"Huh?"

"The demons you are most familiar with are human souls that have been broken and shattered until their entire essence has been perverted."

Buffy was wondering what they were talking about, because that sure wasn’t the kind of demons she was used to.

"The essence inside this thing is demonic in nature, but it's more of an echo, a hybrid originating from the old ones. A race of monsters that existed alongside the Leviathan."

“Oh for… just what we need. A bloody history lesson from the celestial Columbo wanna-be.”

With a roll of her eyes, Buffy glared at her lover. She was on her last nerve and ready to slap him for his audacity. If there was anyone who shouldn’t piss off a creature who could probably immolate him, it was Spike. Besides, that was _her_ job.

Spike smirked at her, but kept his trap shut.

"You know, Dean, I could ask why the hell your ‘angel’ thought it was a good idea to grab my sister, but I'm too tired and pissed off to care. Dawn, let’s go. It’s time we headed back to New Orleans."

"No." Dawn stood there, arms crossed and chin jutting in that stubborn set Buffy had often seen in the mirror.” I haven't made the smallest headway on these research books. Giles would _die_ to get his hands on some of these volumes. Do you understand how much information there is here that the Council doesn't have access to? How much of this would be of help to the Slayers? Besides,” she said, shooting a shy smile in Sam’s direction, “it would be good to have another brain help with research. Sam’s…”

“Dawnie, no!” Xander cried, his expression one of deep pain. “You don’t know these guys from a hole in the wall. For all we know, they could be a couple of serial killers.”

"You can't tell me what to do, Mr. Harris. And... and... I'm not talking to you," she cried, turning her back on him.

Buffy winced the slightest bit at her friend’s heartache, but now was not the time. She didn't have the heart to tell Xander that he had pretty much hit the nail on the head. Or at least, that’s what the newspaper article said the Winchesters were wanted for. Somehow, after talking to Benny and Dean, she found it hard to believe that the stories about the Winchesters were true.

Xander looked as if he were slapped in the face. Buffy _had_ to support her sister, and she knew it was too soon for Dawn to let the shapeshifter incident go and forgive him, but letting her stay here didn’t sit well, either. The idea of leaving her sister, no matter that she was a grown woman, with a bunch of strangers, went against years of habit and concern

"We can take her out forcibly, love," Spike offered, "but you know how well that'll go down."

"True… she'll yank the hair out of your head. She’s a hair-puller from way back."

"And don't think I wouldn't do it,” Dawn muttered. “Unlike Buffy, I'm tall enough to make a good job of it.”

Spike chortled at the sight of Dawn making pincher motions with her fingers. "You can try, missy."

"Listen up, kiddies. Is anyone gonna ask whether we _want_ you to stay here or not?" Dean suddenly asked, as if he were the one in charge of making their decisions. It made Buffy’s hackles rise, and she wanted to show him just how wrong he was.

“It doesn’t matter what you want or don’t want,” Buffy insisted. “ _We_ are leaving. _All_ of us,” she said at Dawn’s balky expression.

“The Key cannot leave.” Castiel’s flat statement came as a surprise. They’d all forgotten he was there.

"Wanna bet?" Dawn stood, and flounced towards the door, throwing it wide open. She stormed out - or rather, attempted to storm out - and was thrown back in, landing on her butt.

"The Key must not leave. It needs to be protected." With those final words, Castiel vanished.


	10. Chapter 10

Dawn was torn. Had she liked getting kidnapped? No. Had she been hurt in any way? No. Was she enthralled by the cache of books and information hidden away in the bunker? Of course. And it didn't hurt to have such nice eye candy hanging around, either. She certainly hadn't minded the jealous look in Xander's eye all that much either, even though she wouldn’t tell him that, now.

Buffy and Dean were all puffed up playing ‘Who's the Boss’.

When Dawn stormed off, it had been more of an emotional reaction than anything else. Gaining control of the situation, trying to show that no one; not her sister, not the two hottie demon fighters, or even their pet angel, could tell her what to do.

Not even Spike.

And... Xander, well… she still wasn't ready to talk with him.

Rubbing her nose, which was still a little sore from hitting the invisible barrier, she finally understood what it had to be like for Spike when he couldn't enter a home uninvited. It was hard to believe. There was absolutely nothing there, yet she couldn’t pass the threshold. Dawn stared as Buffy stepped across with no problem, either going out or coming back in. Neither did Spike or Xander… or even Benny.

The only one that seemed to be stuck... was her. So much for free choice.

"What the hell's going on?" Buffy’s shrill voice got her attention. She saw Buffy grab hold of Dean by his shirt and lift him off the floor. Something that never stopped being funny against large opponents, as short as her sister was.

"Haven't you had enough of my bod yet, Sweetheart?" Dean sneered, feet dangling in the air.

"What did you do to my sister?" Buffy demanded. She was using her ‘Slayer’ voice, the one that had most demons back home in Cleveland running back to whatever holes they came from, the second she used it.

"We didn't do anything to your sister," said Sam. "This place is warded, although until this moment, I thought it was to keep the demons out, not young women in."

"My sister is not a demon," Buffy vehemently denied.

"Nobody said she was which is why I mentioned young women. Calm down, please." Sam tried to placate the blonde fury in front of him, but she was having none of it.

"Call back your angel, make him undo whatever he did."

"We can't..." Sam tried again.

"I don't care what you can or can't do. If I don't get my sister out of here and soon, I'm going to tear this place apart brick by brick until it’s nothing but rubble and I get Dawn free of your not-so-secret hideout. Is that understood?"

"He's not a pet we keep on a leash," said Dean. “He knows we want him here, but he’ll only come back if he wants to. It’s not an exact science.”

"Buffy." Dawn suddenly found the courage to speak up. "It's not their fault."

"Damned right it isn't." Dean muttered. Buffy threw him up against the wall.

For some reason, the way Dean rose from the ground bespoke of way too much familiarity. This obviously wasn’t his first rodeo.

"Slayer, if he doesn't know anything, tossing the git around isn't going to get us the answers we need."

"But it's fun," Buffy replied. "And I'm frustrated. I need a little violence in my life, as you well know, baby." Her voice was saccharinely sweet, and her smile... well, it wasn't the prettiest she had in her arsenal.

"Yeah, but this isn't foreplay."

"No?" Buffy’s eyes practically glowed with arousal as she batted her lashes at Spike.

"It better not be," came Spike's gruff reply even as he pulled her closer to him. “You want to hit someone, you hit me."

Dawn would swear her sister growled.

"Oh get a room already," Dean grumbled.

"Why, are you actually offering? Because there's no way that I'm leaving Dawn here, on her own." The _with you two_ was understood.

"And neither would anyone else with me," Dawn chimed in.

"Damned right," said Xander, even though he didn't approach Dawn and she didn’t look at him.

'There're plenty of rooms," Sam said, quickly trying to placate Buffy before his brother wore the floor as a hat once more.

"In its heyday, the bunker was meant to hold dozens of members of the Men of Letters. There should be plenty of empty rooms to go around."

Dawn counted to three, waiting for Dean to goad her sister into action, but wonder of wonder, he actually kept his mouth shut.

***

Benny had been trying to remain quiet and out of the way during most of the argument. It wasn't that he was a coward, but he wasn't an idiot either. Not to mention that none of their issues had anything to do with him. The only thing sticking his bearded face into the fray would do was remind Sam that he was still here. 

Did he want to go home to New Orleans? Yeah, eventually, but he was not gonna give up any time that he could be with Dean... not willingly. He missed him... his companionship. His... He just missed Dean, period. He'd missed him enough, that just being around him stilled the hunger somewhat. Not that he was going to remind anyone here of the fact that he hadn't eaten in the past two days. And he doubted the Winchesters kept refrigerated blood for unexpected vampire guests.

Benny watched as Dean went to the kitchen, while Sam showed their guests to their accommodations, bringing out sheets and bedding.

"With all these people, we're gonna have to do a food run," Sam said to his brother. "Do we have enough cash?"  
Dean rifled through his wallet, "Should be enough. Worst case scenario, I'll get some money in a local pool hall a few towns over."

For a brief moment, Benny wondered if he could find an ATM to access his account; if he could offer to help without injuring either man’s pride.

"We have another problem, Sammy. We're holed up here with two vampires... and unless we want to run the risk..."

"No. No!" Sam was furious. "I draw the line at having to get blood to feed those bastards."

"So what do you suggest? Letting them go hungry until the bloodlust rages and they can’t control themselves?"

Sam didn't seem to have an answer for that.

"Sam, I know what it's like to be a vampire, even for that short period of time. If they don't get fed, it’ll go balls up when we least expect it and someone will get hurt."

"So what do you want me to do? Open a vein?" Sam’s anger built.

"No!" That sounded more vehement than anything Benny had ever heard from Dean. Even as he tried to process what Dean had said; about knowing what it was like to be a vampire. How could a hunter like Dean possibly ever understand?

"Damn it. Benny doesn't have to be here. He can leave, and that would halve our problem immediately."  
Much as Benny hated to admit it, Sam wasn't wrong. He could just leave - _should_ just leave. Get the hell out of this situation that shouldn’t involve him. And yet...

"Sucks when the family don't like you, doesn't it?"

The rich, accented voice startled Benny and he turned around to face the blond vampire that silently appeared out of nowhere.

"Seein' as you're in the bosom of yours, what do you know?" Benny hated being caught out eavesdropping, and it made him sharp-tongued.

Spike laughed. “You have no bloody idea how long it took to stop bein’ a dirty little secret. If you think Sammy-boy has a hard on against you, you should’ve seen Harris in his prime. Went after my head with an axe, he did. ‘Course, he’d just seen me boffin’ his ex on a table.”

Benny looked at him as if he were crazy. “Sam sent another hunter to keep an eye on me without telling his brother. I wouldn’t have minded; wasn’t doing anything but cooking and keeping company with my great-granddaughter. It was all simple enough until the hunter ended up threatening her life.”

"Human or..."

"Human..." Benny whispered. “I ended up killing him. Was sure Dean would hate me for it." Benny went quiet for a moment. "But he understood."

"I'd have done it... person I loved," Spike said softly. "Nothin' more imperative than protectin' those you love."  
Benny nodded. If there was one thing Dean did understand, it was protecting family. He would die for his brother. "How do _you_ do it?"

"Do what?" Spike looked at him, and then cocked his head. Probably heard that Slayer of his.

"Fight others of your kind?" Benny hesitated for a moment. "I went after the others in my nest, the ones that took my head; especially my maker. But for each one I killed, I thought _How dare I pass judgment?_ I was just as guilty as any of them for all the crimes they’d committed."

"It doesn't hurt that I love the fight... been that way since I was turned,” Spike admitted. “Thanks to a bit of... mechanical intervention, I switched from killing humans, to killing demons. And then I fell in love with the Slayer."

"I've had my fill of fighting during my stay in Purgatory. It was easier there; fight to survive, survive to fight. Now, back here, all I want to do is cook up a mess of jambalaya and read Elizabeth's letters as soon as they arrive."

"Last time I died, I ended up a ghost for months." Spike cringed as he spoke. "Standing there incorporeal and helpless; unable to trounce the big poof or to get away from him... that’s as close to Hell as I ever want to get again."

"Never thought I'd feel as human as I do, after getting turned." Benny shook his head, trying to come to terms with himself. "If it weren't for the need to drink blood, well..."

"Well, what?" Spike asked, truly curious.

"All I've ever wanted was to belong. To share my life with someone who loved me back."  
Spike nodded as if he knew. "You got someone now?"

"I thought I did when I was in Purgatory, but here, now..." With the way Sam reacted to him, forcing Dean to choose between being a hunter and having his brother’s loyalty… how could he accept a vampire as a friend? Benny knew it was hopeless.

"Oh, now, wait just a tic..." Spike slowly smiled, looking at Benny like he was a puzzle he’d just figured out. "You've got a thing for the fighter, don't you?"

"I-I don't know what you’re talking about," Benny stammered. How in the hell did this strange vamp see through him so damned easily?

"Why else would you still be here? Why come in the first place?" Spike was on a roll now. "If you're not in love with Dean, I'll suck the blood directly from a Sprn'tc demon," he crowed, “and they have acid in their veins.”

"Keep it down," Benny hissed. "It's just not right. We shouldn’t be discussing this."

"What? That he's a hunter, or that he's a bloke?"

"Both, actually," Benny admitted, shamefacedly. "When I'm from, it wasn't spoken of in open society."

"Hell, in the Victorian era, sex in general wasn't a thing discussed. Becoming a vampire freed me from that shite. I've shagged things I can't even spell, so another bloke is no big deal. Well, except when he _is_ a big deal, then a bit of advice… lube, loads of it."

"You're..."

"Shameless? Incorrigible? So I've been told, repeatedly."

"I... love Dean," Benny admitted, his voice choked with emotion. "Like a brother." He was desperate to try and get control of this conversation.

Spike laughed. “Then you’re in luck, I’d say. Way I’ve seen him looking at his brother, you’re a safe bet.”

Benny couldn't help himself. His lips twisted in a vain attempt to keep a grin from escaping, but it was a losing battle. “I wouldn’t say that where Dean could hear you.”

"I've seen the way he looks at you when he thinks you're not looking," Spike insisted. "Don't think that your feelings would be unrequited. You might just get your ‘happily ever afters.’"

Benny sighed. "Even if he did go for men, I wouldn’t stand a chance. I’d lose him the second the angel flapped his wings."

"The trench coat bloke?"

"Dean and I could have escaped from Purgatory in a week. Instead, we spent months looking for Castiel. When we finally found him, we had to spend several months hiding from Leviathans... all because Dean wouldn’t leave him behind.”

"Got a hate on for your rival, then?"

Benny shook his head. "He's not a friend, but hate would be too strong a word. Dean loves him so..."

"You think he'd choose him over you."

"I know he would. In the end, I'm just a vampire. Castiel actually pulled Dean out of hell. That's not the kind of thing you forget."

" _Just_ a vampire," Spike spluttered. "I’m the Slayer's calling to dust, and yet here we are, together. _Just_ a vampire, indeed," he muttered.

"Guess you got lucky."

"Luck had nothing to do with it. Hard work, that one, but worth it in the end." Spike cracked the vertebrae in his neck before continuing. "You want him, you need to go after him."

"If you think his brother wants to kill me now..."

"Fuck the giant git!"

"I'd rather not," Benny said, seriously blanching at the idea.

"You know what I mean, arsehole. You've got nobody to blame but yourself if you're not willing to go after what you want."

"I don't care what the fuck you say, Sam. Benny's staying, and that's the end of it." Dean’s loud voice caught the vampires’ attention.

Benny looked up at Dean who stomped towards him, ignoring Sam who was angrily glaring at both him and Spike.

"Told ya." Spike muttered, softly.


	11. Chapter 11

Sitting behind the desk, Dawn tried to think about how she'd felt earlier, how she'd wanted to stay here in the bunker; how much she could learn from the multitude of books that surrounded her that weren’t available anywhere else.

Basically she wanted to distract herself so she didn't have to think about being warded in and unable to leave with her family. Stuck here with her… Xander.

Dawn had overheard Buffy talking with _him_ about going out for some air earlier and part of her was glad that he, at least, was giving her the space she needed. He’d always been good about that, about vanishing. She knew that behavior was partially because of the way he was raised – he was so used to slinking out of sight when his parents were in the midst of yet another fight, or when they’d gotten drunk.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t deny that it made things easier on her now. On the other hand, she really had to fight the desire to throw herself into his arms and lose herself in the warmth of his love. Why was she so conflicted? Why couldn't love be simple?

It had surprised her that there was so much information on shape shifters in the Winchester's library. She'd never had cause to research them before - never known that there was such a variety of species and sub-species. Werewolves, skin walkers, and those that could take on a multitude of forms... 

Some books covered those who could pass for humans in their un-shifted state, some were animalistic, and yet others didn't even have a set personality of their own; building layer upon layer based on those people they interacted with. They tended to be unstable, and many went insane from the anger, fear and horror of the people they assimilated.

If the books were to be believed, shape shifters were the species of demon closest to humans. Many were born to human parents with no explanation for their mutation. It was often assumed that such children came from sexual relations with another shape shifter, but there was no actual proof.

The thing that hit her hardest was the evidence that the shifted were carbon-perfect copies of their victims. There was no way to tell the difference from the original. If there was actual, physical contact between a shifter and its victim, it would even copy their personality traits.

Xander never stood a chance.

And Dawn had blamed him for what the shifter had done to him. To her. She remembered the hurt in his eyes and the hurt she'd added with her angry invective. Buffy had tried to tell her that she was being unfair, but she'd been so damn angry. She finally threw down the book, slamming it down in a way that felt satisfying.  
“What did that poor book ever do to you?” Sam smiled softly at her when she looked up. His smile barely reached his eyes; he really wasn't looking well, and his eyes spoke of an inner battle of his own.

Dawn blushed red to the roots of her hair. She was astonished to realize she'd not noticed Sam was in the room with her.

"I'm sorry about the wards keeping you here, Dawn. I’m sorry Castiel brought you here in the first place. Not that I mind the company of such a beautiful woman, but I'm sure we'll find a way for you to leave soon." He seemed almost embarrassed, not holding her gaze for long. "But... if you don’t mind… what's that whole ‘key’ thing about? If you remember, Cas didn't actually hang around long enough to explain."

Dawn hesitated. Even though it’d been over a decade since the whole Glory and world-ending episode, she wondered how much of it was safe to discuss – especially with a stranger who obviously had knowledge of the supernatural.

"I understand if you want to keep it to yourself,” Sam continued. “I've had... issues, myself, that _I'd_ rather not talk to strangers about. I’m thinking that it just might help to know the situation. If we want to find out what kind of wards he used to lock you in here, it would be a good idea to know what you’re all about."

"I'm not real," she murmured. "Or rather, I wasn't until about fourteen years ago. Not as a human, that is."

He cocked his head in an eerie imitation of Spike’s head tilt, waiting for her to continue. Dawn wasn't exactly sure how to explain the whole of it, or how much she should tell him at all. Throwing caution to the wind, she let spill the best of her understanding. 

"About fourteen years ago, a secret order of monks needed to hide a ball of mystical green energy that was actually an inter-dimensional key. It turns out there was a Hell God, known as the Beast, that wanted to use it to get back to her own portion of the universe.

"She slaughtered most of them, but luckily they held her rampage of destruction off long enough to transform the Key and send it into hiding – to someone who would protect it."

"And that Key was you?"

"Seems like. I don't remember being that formless ball of energy. All my memories tell me I was born the youngest daughter of Hank and Joyce Summers of Los Angeles, whose older sister was Buffy. I remember my parents. I remember their divorce. I remember moving to Sunnydale, but I wasn't _me_ until I appeared at the age of fourteen.

“I remember Dad growing distant until he finally stopped coming by, and I remember crying over it... except, none of that really happened to me. The monks changed everyone's memories so that I fit in. Before that day, I was just some blob of green energy. After, I had form; a body, a soul. I know I’m a person, but I was never born."

"You're a Tulpa."

"A what-pa?"

"A Tulpa. It's a form of Tibetan magic. A Tulpa is formed when monks focus their beliefs to such a degree that the subject of their beliefs becomes real. We fought one a few years ago. Some idiots managed to accidentally use the focus symbols needed to create a Tulpa and had people believe in the existence of a ghost in some abandoned shack. It was a thing. Anyway, we ended up having to destroy the shack, because none of our normal tools for fighting a ghost worked on it. "

Dawn shuddered. She really didn’t like the direction this discussion was going to.

"Those monks must have managed to place your existence in the heads of the people who know you now, building upon itself and using the power of this key to enhance the original magic. Just as long as your sister and friends believe you are Dawn, then you will be Dawn."

"But what happens if they stop believing in me," she whispered, deathly afraid of his answer.

"I don't really know. It's often believed that pagan gods started out as Tulpas, but the less people believed in them... the less powerful they became, until they vanished from existence."

"That's not possible," Buffy said, entering the library and sitting down besides her."It will never happen. There isn't a fraction of a second where I would believe you weren't my sister."

"Are Tulpas evil?" Dawn finally asked. She didn’t feel evil. She remembered the conversation she had with Spike about the very same thing all those years ago. Unfortunately, her feelings didn't mean anything in reality.

"Not unless people believe them to be," Sam tried to reassure her

"Dawnie, you came into our lives as an innocent girl. There is no way you're evil." Buffy wrapped her in a strong embrace.

Dawn smiled. Her sister hadn’t used the diminutive of her name in a long time.

Sam looked down, apparently thinking about something. "Now what I'm wondering about,” he mused. “is whether the wards holding you in are set up against a tulpa, or against the part of you that's the Key. If it's the first, then we'll have to be extremely careful not to mess with them."

Dawn could see the 'why?' on her sister's face, but Sam didn't have to explain that part to her. If she was a construct of imagination, and the wards were set against that, then destroying them, might destroy her as well.

“If we deconstruct the wards, we might deconstruct..."

"Don't say it!" Buffy fumed. "You will not hurt my sister in any way, shape or form.”

"We’re not planning to. I'm just saying we need to know how the wards are set up, so we don't accidentally harm her while trying to set her free."

"And for that you need to know more about the Key?" Dawn’s eyes shone with unshed tears. If she never heard about being the Key again, it would be too soon.

"I'm afraid so."

“Okay, smarty pants,” Buffy stood, spreading her hands in front of her. “Just where in this vast hall of learning is the book entitled "The Key, and How it Works?"

Sam laughed. "If only there was some kind of spell to summon books like that. Right now, the best plan we've got is to look through every book we can find about mystical energy until we get what we need. That, or hope Cas gets his ass back here with the freaking solution."

"And how do we ‘get his ass back here’?” Buffy wasn’t giving Sam an inch of wiggle room. Dawn smiled inwardly. It was nice to have her sister show her concern so openly.

"Best guess? Have Dean pray for it."

“Now you’re just being a smart ass,” Buffy pouted, hands on her hips.

"You know what? I’ve got to get some air." Dawn stood up and stretched, heading for the door.  
"Would you mind telling whoever it is that has the door open to close it?” Sam called out. “We can’t be sure how it affects the wards.”

“No problem,” Dawn answered back and walked out, leaving her sister and Sam to whatever.

***

Xander was ready to tear his hair out, not to mention poking out his one remaining eye with a sharp stick. If he had to spend one more minute watching his Dawn mooning about with that long-haired freak, Sam, nobody could hold him responsible for his actions.

As for Dean, Xander knew that he wasn’t Dawn’s type. She was much too smart to be taken in by his crude behavior and rough good looks. Seeing Buffy after the Parker incident was enough of a cautionary tale. But Sam… Sam seemed harmless, which was what made him far more dangerous.

Xander always felt whacked with the insecurity stick around the college-educated. No matter what he'd accomplished in his life, be it the field work with Buffy, or the Council work with Giles, he always felt that deep down, he didn't measure up. And Sam... well, he reeked of book-learning.

On top of that, he had his own library! How could a simple guy like him ever go up against that? At least where his brilliant-brained woman was concerned. What was he supposed to do? Offer to build shelving? And what on God's green earth could he possibly do to win her affection and trust back?

He needed to breathe in air that the Winchesters didn’t occupy, so he opened the bunker door, standing just outside of the doorframe, and stared into the dark, peaceful night before getting Dawn's laptop from Spike’s car. It was a good thing the Bleached Menace didn’t lock doors as a rule. Fingers itching, he hoped for the computer to signal a connection to the internet. When the *ping* sounded, he grudgingly admitted that those very same Winchesters must have working routers and was grateful that he didn’t need a password to login.

Google was his best bet to search out information, because really, what did they know about the Winchesters? That thought filled him with trepidation. What would he find? Something that was concrete, or wild hyperbole? And look at that - hanging around Giles he’d managed to could pick up a few Sunday words, after all.

What would be worse, finding nothing more than some Facebook page showing off what a douche the smarter Winchester was in real life, or finding out that...

Xander froze when he saw the several hundred pages full of links about Winchesters. Even after he filtered out pages referring to Winchester guns, he still ended up with an overload of information.

Clicking on the Sam and Dean Winchester fanpage – more to rule it out as useless than not – he came face-to-face with two black and white wanted posters, one for each of the Winchester men. Worse yet, were the obituaries.

More horrified with every link he clicked, every page he opened, the Youtube video of the Winchesters’ massacre at a New Orleans diner was so bad that he had to turn it off after mere moments.

It's not that he hadn't seen his fair share of bloody death and destruction. It's just... these were human beings causing the mayhem. People. It was hard enough to see the victims of monsters and supernatural creatures, but to see page after page of the damage and hell that two supposedly human men left behind...

Xander turned back at the door, wondering if he could hear them coming. What if they realized he knew, what would they do to shut him up?

He only had two seconds warning that someone was approaching; booted footfalls coming closer.

"Everything okay?" Dean asked. "You look like somebody kicked your puppy."

Xander startled at Dean’s presence and slammed the laptop shut quickly, hard enough to send it skittering to the floor. "I'm fine." he answered, slightly trembling at being almost caught snooping on their hosts.

"Hey, no skin off my nose if you want to check out the porn sites. Just keep the sound low, will ya? It tends to drive Sammy nuts."

Dean left and Xander stared at his retreating back. The guy had been almost jovial, friendly. You wouldn't think he was the kind of monster that could force dozens of innocent people into a vault and open fire at them point blank. Or worse, the kind of monster that would skin a woman alive.

How were they alive when their death certificates were on file for anyone to see?

And yet here they all were - at their mercy - because the idea of leaving Dawn behind with them was unthinkable. After all, they had no clue what would it take to set them off; perhaps they’d be murdered in their sleep. Xander made himself a promise to check the doors for locks when he went back inside.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose; a major headache was forming behind his missing eye. He knew he should warn Buffy, and Dawn. According to the sick freaks on the Winchester fansite, there were even charges of necrophilia against Sam Winchester.

What if Buffy thought he was crazy? Worse, what if she wouldn’t believe him? He needed to talk to someone with better computer skills than he had to search out the real info on these guys. Make sure that they'd actually listen to him. But whom? Giles was of no use when it came to working with computers, and Willow would just think he was being jealous. And there was no way in hell that he was going to call Andrew for help. The geek would hold it over him for the rest of time

He drummed his fingers on the laptop case, thinking… thinking… who? Who could he ask without looking like a total asshole? Xander tugged at his ear in frustration. The answer came to him in a flash of red hair. 

Vi.

Her hacking skills nearly rivaled Willow's, and she was enough of a skeptic that she'd at least understand his need to investigate, and his worry for everyone's safety. He trolled through Dawn’s list of contacts and pushed send… hoping against hope that Vi would answer. She was ... odd that way. Vi had a way of changing names, almost as often as Buffy did with shoes, and she tended to disappear for months at a time. Being a Slayer never ruled her life like it did Buffy's. And once she lost her powers - the one thing no one dared to mention to her face – she’d become increasingly flighty.

It was with a huge sense of relief that Vi appeared on the laptop's screen. "Hey, Xan. What's shaking?" she said, smiling infectiously.

"Hey Vi," He felt a bit weird, as if he were intruding on her life. They hadn't really talked much since she left Cleveland, so she had to be wondering why he bothered to contact her now. That she was smiling was a good sign.

"We've got a... situation, and... and... I need your help."

"Why me?" she asked. "You've got whole cadres of slayers for muscle, not to mention Buffy and Spike for the heavy lifting. And you’ve got Giles and Willow for research. Why outsource?"

"Because I need proof before I can take this to Buffy." He felt bad for the brief flash of pain that passed through Vi’s eyes when she mentioned the other slayers, but pressed on. “Because flattery gets you everywhere? And you’re the best for the kind of information I need. Not to mention, you won't think I'm a jealous ass."

Well, at least she laughed at his self-deprecating remark. This was real problem, damn it, even if he was being an ass and jealousy certainly played a part in his search.

"I need you to find out anything you can on these two brothers: Dean and Sam Winchester. Google brings up stories of massacres and destruction, as well as their death certificates, but I need the facts, not just rumors and accusations."

There was a look of shock that passed quickly across Vi's face, but before he could ask her why, it had vanished.

"Wh.. why?" she stuttered. 

"Why what?"

"Why are you looking into Sam and Dean?"

Klaxxons went off in Xander's head. "Do.. do you know who they are?" he asked. "How do you know who they are?"

"Xander, look, I... I'll call you back, ok? I just..." Vi cut the connection before he could say anything else.  
He tried to get her back, but she wouldn’t pick up. Something was rotten in the state of Vi-dom.

"Xander?" He turned around and saw seeing Dawn standing in the doorway, practically leaning up against the invisible barrier. "Are you coming in?" She looked as beautiful as ever and the tone of her voice... for a moment he dared hope… pray… that maybe she'd be willing to listen to him now, give him a chance to try and explain.

"Sam asked me to tell you to shut the door. It interferes with the wards," she said, before turning on her heels and walking away.

"Are you alright?" Xander called after her, softly. “I know how much you hate being cooped up."

"I'm fine," she murmured. "I do want to get out of here, but then again... the books!"

"I'm sure we can find a way to get you out,” he said with quiet enthusiasm. “I know that Buffy already has Willow and Giles working on it back home." Back in Cleveland. It still didn’t really feel like home, no matter how long they’d lived there. It wasn't Sunnydale. 

For the merest moment, Dawn's eyes rested in his, soft and warm, but he watched as they changed and became cold and distant. "I - I can't do this, Xander. I'm just not ready."

"I know, I'm trying Dawn. I don't mean to push." He could see the tears in her eyes, and wished he still had the right to wipe them away. "Just... Dawn, you need to stay away from Sam. He's not... he's not what you think he is."

As soon as he said the words, he knew they were the worst possible thing he could have said and he was about ready to bash his own head in for his stupidity.

"You shouldn't have come in the first place," Dawn snapped, going from quiet to absolutely livid in less than 30 seconds. "I'm going to kill Willow when we get home."

"Dawn, .. I'm sorry, I didn't mean. It's not..." but she was already running further into the depths of the bunker, leaving him standing out in the dark. He figured he’d gotten off lightly when she hadn’t slapped him across the face. 

There was nothing he could do but wait to hear back from Vi. _If_ she could be trusted. It wasn't a good thing that she reacted so strongly at the mention of the Winchesters.


	12. Chapter 12

It was weird… having a home, having a place to call your own. Hating the idea of strangers moving in and sharing all your toys. Dean knew he wasn’t exactly being fair. After all, neither the girl nor her family were going to stay forever. In fact, they didn’t want to be here at all. They were only here until the girl could leave. Unfortunately, none of them knew when that would be. And until they had a clue, they’d have to put up with each other, with strangers in his and Sam’s sanctuary. Uninvited guests that they couldn’t – or in Dawn’s case in any method they knew – kick out the door when they got too annoying. It felt like an invasion.

He’d never felt like this about anything but the Impala.

Twenty steps to the left and another twenty steps back. Dean was afraid he'd wear a track in the floor. He couldn't sleep, thanks in part to the loud banging and dear god, was that _roaring?_ coming from that damned vamp's room down the hall. It didn't help that the shell of the bunker was metal, and all sound carried. Those guys could bring down a mountain. He’d be impressed if it were happening anywhere else.

Not to mention that dirty-down-low feeling stirring in his groin. It'd been way too long since he's gotten laid.  
It was hard to blame the vamp. If he had a chance with a chick that hot, who could ride you for hours, didn't take crap and could beat you into a pulp without breaking a sweat, he'd go for it in an instant. Hell, he’d been a marathon man himself, once. With an actual Amazon. If it hadn’t ended up with him becoming a father and losing the child in a matter of days, he’d probably consider it some of the best sex in his life.

"Cas, you bastard," he yelled towards the ceiling. "If you don't get back here soon, we're all gonna die from sleep deprivation."

But Cas didn’t answer. Just like he hadn't answered the last ten times Dean had called for him. It’s not like he expected the angel to be sitting around, just waiting for him. Dean was almost happy that Cas had mentioned something about their ‘profound bond’ while Sam was soulless, mainly because it was the only thing that stopped Sam from mocking him with it till the end of time.

Dean sat down on the bed and grabbed one of his guns. Taking it apart and using an old rag to clean and oil it was soothing and a productive way to spend his time... and didn’t require any thought whatsoever.

"What the hell were you thinking, Cas?" he murmured, knowing the angel could hear him, no matter the volume of his voice.

"I was thinking that saving the world would be something you were interested in," the soft, flat, familiar voice answered.

 _What did it say about his life when pop-ins like this one didn’t startle him in the slightest?_ "Wanna tell me what kidnapping a girl and keeping her imprisoned have to do with saving the world?" Dean asked, not bothering to look at the angel. He was still furious with him over his betrayal with Naomi, and mad at himself for having to deal with the angel at all.

"Do you have any idea what would happen if the dimensional walls were to crumble and heaven and hell were free to spread out amongst them?

"Back up the wagon there, buddy. What the fuck does that girl have to do with any of that?" Dean met Cas’ eyes for the first time since he popped into the room. "She's human, isn't she?" _Then again, most of the things they fought also looked human._

"She is, and she is not. She exists in multiple dimensions. The human that is here and now and the part of both heaven and hell. She was once nothing more than great amorphous energy, used as a heavenly weapon to banish the living and the dead. The Key."

"So what's the danger? That in this form, she'll have a crying jag and the world will end?” None of this was making sense.

"No." Castiel looked at him as if he were bordering on insanity, and that somehow the angel had to figure it all out on his own.

"Crying will have no consequences in her function as the Key."

"Good." Dean nodded as if that settled things.

"Her blood, however...

"In order for her function as the Key to be unlocked, a ritual must be held; spells spoken and deities invoked. It only ends when the Key is bled out. Where her blood falls, a portal between dimensions will open. This portal will tear apart the walls of reality and collapse them all."

"Okay,” Dean said, slowly. “No cutting the smart chick, then."

He called up the tall brunette in his mind, wondering once again how someone so human could be something else as well. The idea of this Key was horrifying. Not just because of what it could do, but because of what it meant for the girl herself. He couldn't help but feel protective stirrings. After all, Dawn was just an innocent - a sacrifice waiting to happen. And he was tired of seeing innocent girls get murdered and being unable to stop it.

"Once the ritual starts,” Castiel continued, unaware of Dean’s feelings, as always, “the only way to end it is to make the bleeding stop."

"So you can heal her, then?" _Stop the bleeding, prevent the ritual, save the girl._ Unfortunately, Castiel proved to be a downer, once again.

"No, the portal closes only when her heart pumps the last of her blood."

Dean shook his head, vehemently."No way, Cas. I'm not gonna kill her. She’s an innocent!" Dean had had enough blood on his hands as it was; he couldn’t add more.

"I would not expect you to, Dean," Castiel said, softly, looking at Dean with eyes full of empathy, reaching deep into his soul. It was profound, and just that little bit creepy, as well. That kind of ‘understanding’ usually meant he thought Dean was being an overly-moral, weak little mortal.

In other words, he'd take the burden on himself. Dean didn't think he could allow that, either.

"The idea is for her not to bleed at all." A small olive branch to ease Dean’s discomfort.

"Let me get this straight - you locked her up in the bunker to keep her from getting a boo-boo?" Dean asked, biting his tongue hard to not say anything that would antagonize Castiel, or threaten him regarding Dawn’s safety.

"The angels must have discovered her continuing existence when they realized I was near her. If they find her, they may attempt to use her. The key is a powerful weapon; even unused it could upset the power balance in heaven."

Which was shaky enough already, if Dean understood everything that he’d learned over the past months.

"We cannot risk them getting their hands on her, or the angel tablet. This is why I have hidden them both."

Of course that meant he had to hide her here. Despite the fact that Castiel had said straight out that he didn’t trust Dean with the angel tablet, it showed some faith that he believed the Winchesters would be able to protect the Key. Sort of hypocritical, if you asked him. And damned aggravating.

"So you think they 'might' know of her, that they 'might' use her. But you've got no proof of any of this?" Dean couldn’t help the incredulity in his voice. “"It's not like they were after her before you grabbed her. And you have to know that her sister won't allow her to be kept here against her will until she turned old and grey, Cas... something has to be done."

"I am looking into it," the angel said, sounding so sincere, but Dean knew what Cas being sincere meant. And it didn't make him as hopeful now, as it would have a few years ago.

"Yeah, you do that," Dean muttered.

"I do mean it, Dean," he tried, but Dean brushed him off, refusing to say another word.

In between Sam being an ass about Benny and having to explain to Buffy about Dawn, he wished he could just shove his head under his pillow and sleep until all these problems went away.

"The souled vampire is odd," Castiel said suddenly, surprising Dean that he was still in the room.

"Define odd, considering you called him an abomination earlier."

"The demon inside of him. It should not be capable of love."

"Make your point, Cas."

"It loves selflessly, tormenting itself to a point that a demon should be incapable of. The soul merely guides it beyond the point of what the demon is capable of, but it does not make its choices, as it would with the other vampire with a soul. It is quite... peculiar."

"That's love for ya, Cas. Peculiar, weird, and all-around indefinable."

"Yes."

Dean looked around when no more was forthcoming, only to find Castiel had vanished once more. He shrugged it off and stood up, stretching his stiff muscles. He still couldn’t sleep and the noise hadn’t abated in the slightest. A snack would fill the bill, and Dean grabbed his robe before heading to the kitchen. With all the people here, Dean felt more at ease being somewhat covered up instead of traipsing about in just his shorts and a tee. Besides, it was warm and fuzzy… and cool, in spite of what Sammy thought.

When he got to his little haven, Benny was already sitting at the kitchen table, sucking noisily on… bunnies? Dean shivered, but it was preferable to munching on humans, and he imagined the vampire needed to feed. And hey, it’s not like Benny had brought the dead animal into Dean’s bedroom. He sighed, watching with distaste as the blood trickled down onto the paper towels Benny had used to catch the mess.

"This is disgusting," Benny said, fangs sliding away. 

"So why eat it, dude?" Dean grabbed a chair, swung it around and straddled the seat.

"It's better than nothing, brother." Dean felt the usual warmth bloom in his belly whenever Benny called him that. He felt like family, sure, but not quite in the same way Sam did. The feeling confused him, but since it felt good, he pushed it to the back of his mind.

"Where'd ya get Peter Rabbit from?" Dean asked, almost feeling sorry for his friend. He remembered Benny usually drank bagged human blood, which, while gross, was better than live from the vein.

"Spike hunted up a brace of rabbits when he went out for a smoke, earlier." Benny licked a few remaining droplets from his lips.

Dean couldn’t help stare. He knew he should be disgusted watching a vamp eat… even Benny, but something about the way... He shook his head at his own behavior. He really didn’t want to examine it further.

The vampire leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs, thankfully not putting his feet on the table. "They’re better than nothing,” he said, before sitting back upright and grabbed the carcasses from the table, obviously looking for a place to dispose of them. Dean pointed at the garbage bin. “Spike was being right kindly when he got them for us. That feller the slayer has with her was starting to look appetizing."

Dean froze for a moment, before chuckling along with Benny. God damn, he was tired. "Don't even joke about snacking on humans, man,” Dean warned. “I have a feeling that Slayer would have your head faster than you can say sorry if you touched a single hair on her pal’s head."

Benny smiled. "That she would, the little firecracker. Haven't seen the likes of her since that Slayer back in New Orleans years ago. That one had style too..."

The look in Benny’s eyes made him wonder if he’d fought that Slayer. He’d once told him a story, back when they’d been in Purgatory, but Dean thought it had been tempered, afraid to provoke him with tales of killing people.

"She does have a righteous streak about her, doesn't she?" Dean smiled at the memories of lying under her pointy heel. He’d gotten a nice look at a lovely leg from his position on his back. He wondered if all slayers were that hot.

"I just wish those two were a little bit less loud," Dean said. "I've been living in motel rooms since I was four years old, so I’m used to hearing the sounds o’ love, but these two are really something. They’ve been going at it for hours with no signs of stopping any time soon. I can't even begin to imagine what it's doing to Sammy."

“At least someone's happy in this tin box," Benny said, shrugging his shoulders.

"So I'm guessing that means you no longer want to end blondie’s unlife?"

"Eh... time will tell if he still deserves to be put down, I figure. No sense pissing off the tiny terror."  
Dean grabbed a beer out of the fridge, throwing one to Benny, before opening his own. "I can drink to that."

At long last, the echoes from the ‘room of loving’ seemed to die down, and Dean was heading in the direction of his bed, when he spotted the light still on in the library. Sam was asleep, head on a pillow, with Dawn carding her fingers through his long hair.

“Shhhh,” she whispered when he made himself known. “He fell asleep and I couldn’t move him, so I brought his pillow from his bed.”

Dean smiled at the kindness she’d shown to his brother. These days, Sammy could use all the TLC he could get.

“Should we get him into bed, or something?” Dawn asked. “He can’t possibly be comfortable here all night.”

“Sammy could sleep anywhere, at any time, especially these days.” Hell, with all the times they’d slept in the Impala when there wasn’t enough dough to get a room, Dean knew for a fact that Sam’d been far less comfortable than he was now. “You might as well get to bed. I’ll get him to his room. Ain’t nothing I haven’t done before.”

“Sounds like the monkeys have finally gone to bed,” Dawn said with a fond smile.

“You put up with that racket on a steady basis? How can you function with that going on all the time?”

“Well,” she said, giggling. “First of all, we don’t live together anymore, which helps. All my emotional scarring was done when I was a kid, and years of intense psychiatric therapy has gotten me past the worst of it.”

“You are joking, right?” Gods, she sounded so much like Sammy; the way he used to complain when Dean’d brought some chick back to the motel room or whatever rundown building their dad had them holed up in. Guess it was a younger sibling thing.

“Of course I am, doofus. I’m just happy they’re happy. It took them long enough to get to this place, and if a little sleep deprivation is the result, I’ll deal.”

They parted company in the hallway, and just as Dean settled his brother into his bed, the ruckus started up again.

Dean just rolled his eyes, and went to bed, praying for a miracle and wondering if somewhere in the bunker, the Men of Letters had a supply of earplugs.


	13. Chapter 13

Sam was ready to pound his aching head into the steering wheel to counteract the pressure building behind his eyes. How had he allowed himself to be talked into taking Benny and Xander shopping with him? The two were yakking it up in the back seat, talking about everything from cooking to types of demons they'd come across. They sounded like best buds instead of a monster and someone who killed his kind.

Whereas, Sam knew that whenever Xander looked at _him_ , it was as if the man had to restrain himself from hauling off and decking him.

When did a vampire become more trustworthy than a hunter?

"You know... I'm not the bad guy here," Sam finally said, turning around to face Xander. "I had nothing to do with your girlfriend ending up in my home."

"That's not..." Xander cut himself short and started fiddling with the toy soldier Sam knew to be in the ashtray. “Just keep your eyes on the damned road,” he grumbled.

"I just don't get it,” Sam pushed the rather one-sided conversation. “How on earth can you be so buddy-buddy with a vampire? Another vampire! It just doesn't make sense... especially seeing how close you are to a slayer."

Xander did the last thing Sam had expected… he started laughing. "I have no idea, and believe me, I've been asking myself _that_ question for years. I suppose part of the answer was his being one of the only other males in a group of females – both adults and kids alike. After you've been roommates with a guy on several different occasions, he sorta… well, he grew on me. A little like fungus."

"How did you even close your eyes with him in the room?" Sam couldn’t imagine letting his guard down to that extent. Having Benny in the bunker last night kept him awake for most of the night.

"Well, there were the weeks where I kept him tied to the comfy chair, even though he had an anti-violence chip in his head. Safe, but I had to put up with him yapping all night long. Most nights I wanted to stuff a gag in his mouth. When I finally got rid of him, he ended up stealing my lamp."

The man chuckled at the memories. Why didn’t he take any of this seriously? And what did a fucking lamp have to do with anything?

"Then, the second time around, he'd just gotten his soul and gone all crazy flakes. Since I had a walk-in closet that was big enough to put a bed into, Buffy asked if I could take him in."

“Wait… chip?” Sam asked.

"Computer chip. Don't know if you ever ran into one of the government's anti-demon special-ops groups - they called themselves the Initiative and we had one of their bases back in Sunnydale. They went around capturing demons – experimenting on them – trying to mess with stuff that shouldn’t be messed with. They captured Spike, put this thing in his head and voila, we had a defanged vamp who couldn't even pick flowers without getting a brain-frying headache."

"So he's safe now?"

"Nah, Buffy had the chip removed years ago. It malfunctioned, practically killing him. By then, he’d already changed sides, even before he got his soul. I trust him a hell of a lot more than I do Angel. At least with Spike, I know that he won't suddenly turn on us, just because he gets a happy."

"I'm not even going to ask," Sam said, head swimming so bad he had to pull the car over.

"Y'all right there, Son?" Benny asked.

"I'm fine," Sam said, stubbornly, refusing to show weakness, especially to Benny. It had kind of surprised him, when the vampire offered to leave with him this morning. Dean had tried to change Benny's mind, telling him that he could stay if he wanted to. But Benny had said no – said he needed to get back to New Orleans, to see if he still had his job.

And then Sam had to stand there as his brother grabbed the vampire's arm and pulled him into a hug. Dean rarely hugged Sam, himself, until recently, and you had better believe that left a mark on him. To see him handing out hugs to a vampire with such emotion...

Sam had wondered why Benny was suddenly so eager to leave, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth either. If Benny was willing to go, then good riddance.

"You wanna take a back seat, buddy?" Xander asked, tapping Sam on the shoulder. "My license says I'm safe to drive, even with one eye."

Sam refused. "No, thanks. My brother would kill me if I let someone else drive his baby. He finds it hard enough to hand me the keys."

"I'm sure your brother would like it even less if you cracked up the car, and killed yourself,” Xander pressed, “not to mention us... in the process."

"I wouldn’t be so sure of that." Sam mumbled as another wave of dizziness nearly made him puke.

"Fine," he said, reluctantly. "If Dean freaks, it's all on your shoulders."

Xander smiled. "I can deal with that."

When Sam looked at him in disbelief, Xander said, “Thirty women, two bathrooms... believe me, handling Dean will be a breeze." He got out of the car and stretched, audibly cracking the kinks in his neck before grabbing hold of the driver’s side door handle. "Buffy in the morning before her first cup of coffee makes your brother look like a pussycat."

"How did you end up with that many women in the first place?" Sam just had to ask, since Xander had referenced them several times by now, as he settled into the back seat.

"Potential slayers back in Sunnydale. Slayer school, in Cleveland. I'm the jack of all trades that keeps the school from collapsing."

"There are enough slayers to warrant a school?” Benny asked. "Last I knew, it was one girl at a time, and when she died, another was called."

"That was the mythology,” Xander agreed, “Until about a decade ago. There was this apocalypse and Willow – my best friend and uber-witch – did a spell so that Buffy could share her Slayer power amongst the entire potential line. We went from two Slayers to a few hundred. The idea was to shore up our defense against the First Evil. I guess it worked, sort of."

Benny shuddered, as if the thought of hundreds of slayers was too much for a poor vamp to think of.

"You're friends with a witch?" Sam’s voice went cold and hard. Bad enough they were treating vampires as companions, but _witches?_ Sure, there was James, an old friend turned witch, but they'd known him before he became stupid enough to get involved with magic. Every other witch they’d met – and he cringed thinking about Ruby who'd once been a witch as well – had been evil, or close to it.

“There is nothing similar in our lives," Sam said aloud. "In mine, witches and vampires and demons... they’re all creatures to be destroyed. In yours, you pal around with all of them. I don't know if I could ever be comfortable living like that."

"I was once engaged to a demon… well, former demon." Xander sighed, wistfully. “Stupidest thing I ever did was leaving her standing at the altar.

"Anya… she was over a thousand years old and she loved me. Suddenly it was the end of the world and I just... I proposed. It just seemed like the right thing to do. Only after we saved the world and hadn’t died, I was suddenly face-to-face with the all too–grownup idea of actually getting married. And I choked."

"Well at least it kept you from getting married to a demon. That's something right?" Sam couldn’t see the problem here.

"She wasn't a demon when we were together, at least not at first. She – Anya… Anyanka, was a vengeance demon. Her power center was broken, and she became human. She was so out of place, my girl. She had to relearn how to live among people - how to be human again."

Benny stared at Xander as if he'd gone insane. "You left a vengeance demon at the altar?" He was awestruck. "I'm not sure if I should back away from you slowly, or worship the set of balls you must have had to do that. Why aren’t you dead?"

"Trust me, in the end it was my loss," Xander said, shaking his head sadly. "She went back to being a vengeance demon after the wedding-that-wasn’t. Tried her hardest to get back in the groove of cursing men who’d wronged women. She even tried to get my friends to wish for vengeance against me, but when it came down to it, she couldn’t follow through. She'd become too human.

"She died... fighting The First. I never truly appreciated her until she was gone."

Sam could see the grief in the other man's face, and for the first time, he appreciated that Xander was older and more experienced than he'd given him credit for. 

"I'm just saying... I used to judge people on what they were. I used to hate Spike just for being a vampire – which I should have, back when he was evil. But I've just seen too much, been through too much, to keep believing that. I was there when Spike changed, when he willingly gave his life to save the world, and every last human on it. I’ve seen humans who were more evil than any demon I've met. I'm not stupid enough to not learn from my mistakes."

That gave Sam pause for thought. Maybe, just maybe, he was being too hard on Benny. After all, if Dean had such faith in him, there had to be a reason. Plus, he had been able to trust Lenore once upon a time. Even Ruby. Where had that trust gone? That ability to believe that even monsters could be good - and men could be bad.

Did he lose it when he was disappointed one time too many, when Amy died..? God, there were hunters who did more harm than any monster. The Benders had never run into anything supernatural, and they were some of the most monstrous evil he'd run into in his life.

Whatever. Sam lay back against the headrest and closed his eyes. "Just go straight on this road we're on until we reach the bus stop. There should be one at the next diner-gas station combo."

About a half-hour later, Xander pulled the Impala into a lot next to a dusty diner. "One for the road, Benny?" he asked.

"Yeah,” the vamp said. “Wouldn’t mind a beer."

Sam wondered how hard it would be for the vampire to be that close to other people on the bus; in such close quarters on a drive that could take hours before they got anywhere near civilization.

"Sam?"

“Huh?” Xander looked as if he were waiting for an answer. “Oh… maybe just some water and aspirin, if they have some," Sam muttered, trying to ride out the massive headache that just wasn't going away.

"Are you sure?" Benny actually seemed concerned. "Have you thought about seeing a doctor for those?"

Sam shook his head, and was immediately sorry for having done so. "Nothing they can do for me, Benny. I just have to see something through, and until then..." He opened the car door and unfurled himself from the back seat. Maybe he should have asked Dean to do this. The sun hurt his eyes, the heat made him dizzy, and all he really wanted to do was curl up in bed.

On the other hand, if he gave in to his weakness, Dean would keep him on an even tighter leash. His brother wasn’t stupid - he knew he wasn't in top form, but no way was he letting him know just how bad things had gotten. Sam was determined to finish this third trial if it killed him, and it looked like it just might.

Sam opened the door and their presence was announced by the soft tinkling of a bell. The three of them sat down in one of the old booths that had clearly seen better days. When no server had come by after five minutes to take their order, he looked around.

The place was empty. Not just of other patrons, but not a waitress in sight. Or a cook at the kitchen window, for that matter.

He had a bad feeling about this.

Xander was the only one still immersed in the menu, even if his frame radiated tension.

Benny sniffed the air. "There's no bodies," he murmured. "None that I can smell, at least. No blood, either."

"Huh?" Xander finally looked up. "Blood? Bodies?"

"This place, it's too quiet. Even if the people working here didn't expect customers, they should have heard the bell."

"Maybe they went out for a smoke?" Xander asked as he put down the menu

"Without locking the door or even using the ‘Closed’ sign?"

"This place has been empty for awhile," Benny said. “The scents are faint… I’d say nobody’s been here for about an hour or so.”

"And you can tell that with your amazing sense of smell?" Xander couldn’t help grimacing. “I hate it when Spike does that. It’s just gross.”

"Vampires can track a person even if they're miles away,” said Benny. “You should know that if you pal around with Spike. Our noses are better than those of bloodhounds.”

“If a vampire says no one's been here for a while, then I'm inclined to believe it." Much as Sam hated to admit Benny was right about anything.

"Fuck." Xander grumbled. "And I was so looking forward to trying out some of that road food that people love complaining about.

"Did anyone notice if there were people around the gas pumps or the bus stop?" Sam asked.

Xander shook his head. "I didn't see anyone, but I wasn't really looking for it either."

After some thought, Benny added, "Not that I can remember. I figured, out-of-the-way place like this… wouldn't be weird for them to see no more than a few people a day."

"But... absolutely nobody? This isn’t right," Sam said, his headache pounding. "We need to get out of here," he urged, hands on the table as he readied to push himself out of the booth.

"Mister Winchester." Sam turned to the door, freezing as he saw two men and one woman standing in the doorway of the diner. Impeccably dressed in black suits, not to mention knowing his name… “Angels,” he whispered to his companions.

Xander and Benny stiffened. There was no way this was going to end well.

"We have a few questions for you to answer," The female said, glaring at the trio.

"Where is the Key?" The angel on the left demanded. He didn't look as if patience was one of his virtues.

"The what?"

Sam was glad that Benny answered first. At least he managed to put enough bravado in it to make it sound like he didn’t have a clue what they were asking for. They had to keep Dawn safe. No matter what the angels wanted with her, it couldn't be good… for Dawn, or anyone else.

And if the angels knew about Dawn, then Crowley wouldn't be far behind.

How in the hell were they going to get back to the bunker without being tailed? If they managed to leave here alive, that is. Sam didn't think that Dean would be too happy if he let Benny get killed by angels. And Buffy would have a fit if he let her friend get injured.

"We have no issue with you, Winchester."

“That would be a first,” Sam muttered.

Even the other angels seemed skeptical, but the first speaker continued, “The Key is too dangerous to remain in human hands. It would be best for all to hand it over to us."

"And what would the angels do with the Key?" Benny’s curiosity got the better of him.

"We would render it inert." The female angel looked particularly smug at her remark.

“How?” Xander spoke up.

Sam looked back, giving him a glare in the hope of shutting him up quick. Not that the guy seemed ready to do so. Xander seemed to have the same attitude towards danger that Dean did – jump in with both feet and no brain.

“We would return it to its original form; to keep it from being discovered and used by our enemies.”

Xander was practically foaming at the mouth. "Are you insane? It was made into Dawn to keep it hidden in the first place. You can't kill her! She's mine!"

"Dawn?"

All three angels looked at them, confusion evident.

Xander looked decidedly green... he had given away much more than he had intended.

Sam felt for him. Being in love with the girl made this so much worse than her just being an innocent they needed to save.

"The key is human?"


	14. Chapter 14

Dawn had her head buried in a book. What else was new? She also had a book in her lap, as did Spike and Dean. That alone wigged her out somewhat. Even though Buffy knew her vampire had a brain, he didn’t always like to let it out to play.

*thunk*

The sound of heavy boots shifting on the table made Dawn lift her head, obviously aggravated at being distracted from her reading.

It made Buffy feel self-conscious that she'd been leaning back in her chair, balancing on the back two legs. It was one of Mom’s biggest complaints. Buffy settled her chair back down with a solid bump.

Another *clump* from Spike's heavy Docs and an answering *thud* from Dean’s boots frayed the last of Dawn's patience. "Damn it, you guys!" she snarled. "Don't you have any respect for the really old books? If you ruin them with your dirty, stinky boots, you might just screw up any chance of me ever leaving this place."

Buffy blushed with surprised embarrassment. Even though she hadn’t done anything wrong, she felt as if she'd just been scolded by mom, instead of her little sister. Or Giles, for that matter.

Dean picked that moment to grab yet another handful of the salty chips that he'd been munching on all morning.

"And that goes for your greasy fingers, too, mister," Dawn admonished Dean.

"Yes, Mom," he snarked back at her, stuffing still another handful into his mouth.

"Why do I always get stuck with the philistines?" Dawn groaned, once more an almost perfect imitation of Giles. "Do you think your brother would like it if you ruined his library? These books are irreplaceable, and I wasn’t kidding about the grease."

Buffy smiled as Dean quailed the tiniest bit under her sister's scrutiny; the girl was a force to be reckoned with. And it was obvious from Dean's reaction, that his brother was his weak spot. She filed that under handy things to know, along the lines of Spike's addiction to Weetabix, Xander's tendency to do the Scooby dance during the holidays and the fact that you should never give Willow a cup of coffee right before bed.

A snicker from Spike's direction turned her laser-eyes on him. "You're no angel, either, buster," she chastised. "You're not even reading. I haven't seen you turn a page in the last half hour."

As Spike straightened up in his chair, he dropped the book he was holding. A faded old porno magazine, easily thirty to forty years old judging by the cover photo’s style, entitled ‘Voluptuous Asian Lovelies' fell to the table.

Dean glared when he saw it. “Dude, that thing’s worth a fortune on Ebay… treat the ladies with respect, man.”

Spike froze as Buffy dropped her own book. “You wanna ‘splain yourself, vampire?” she asked, her tone cool.

"What?” he asked innocently, as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “I used to love reading these…" 

Buffy snorted. "Yeah, right – are the boobs printed in Braille? And don’t you dare tell me you were only reading the articles.”

"Check out the one on page eighteen." Dean had to stick his own two cents in. He ducked when Buffy grabbed the magazine and tossed it at his head. “Hey, that's a collector’s edition," he shouted, bending over to pick it up. Much as she loved Spike, Buffy couldn't help but appreciate the view.

"Oi, Slayer... keep your eyes in your head," Spike snarled. She should have known he’d follow her line of sight.

"Who? Sweet, little old me?" she simpered. “Why would I look at _anyone_ who isn’t my Big Bad vampire?”

Dean seemed to enjoy both the attention and getting on Spike’s nerves.

"You know I only have eyes for your ass, Spike," Buffy continued sweetly, batting her lashes.

Spike glared and stood up from the table. “I need a fag,” he muttered, heading out the door, practically storming out of the room like Dawn used to when she was pissed off.

"What crawled up his ass?" Dean asked, eyes twinkling with mischief.

"You," Dawn said, her demeanor not pleasant. Dean cringed at her annoyed features.

“I'll be right back… or not," Buffy excused herself. She had her boyfriend's feelings to soothe.

"They're so lame." Buffy heard Dawn's words as she left the room.

"I'm gonna go do something manly, before you start up with the girl talk." Dean responded, good nature woven through the words. "I'll be at the shooting range if you need me." He nodded as he passed Buffy in the hallway.  
Buffy stood in the doorway to the kitchen, watching as Spike smoked and flicked his ashes into the sink.

"Oh come on now, you big baby," she cooed, sidling up to him and wrapping her arms around his waist. "There was no need to go flouncing off in a snit."

"I don't flounce," he muttered, tossing the remains of his cigarette into the drain. “I storm out like a force of nature.”

“What did you want me to do, Spike? A nice ass came into view, and I looked. I’m not dead,” she reasoned.

“Well, I am, but that doesn’t mean I’ll drool over some bint while you’re in the room,” he argued, bottom lip pouting in the way that made Buffy’s knees quiver.

"How can you be so pissed off that I checked out a little butt when you were ogling those naked women?" Buffy really tried to keep her tone light. She wasn't in the mood for an argument.

"We're not trapped in here with those naked women, are we?"

"Like I'm gonna make a move on Dean when I have you to play with?"

Spike glared at the hall, as if he could vaporize Dean with his intent alone.

"Spike,” Buffy murmured as she gently massaged the small of his back. “Dean... he's so not my type. He's the kind of guy who’ll sleep with any woman he can get his hands on – like Parker. Trust me; I’m too old to fall for that again. Besides…" she practically purred in his ear. “I love you. I don’t need anyone else. You should know that by now.”

Spike's eyes softened at her words.

"Do you really think that little of me that I would leave you and fall for his type, again?"

Inching closer, Spike brushed an errant lock of hair from her forehead and sighed. "Sorry, love. It's just... we need to get Bit out of here. I've never been good stuck in one place for long and it’s driving me bug-shagging crazy."

"And you should know, having been there," Buffy smiled at him, glad to see the stormy clouds had parted from his eyes. "Now that we’ve gotten over this moment of manly insecurity, can we get back to business?"

Spike slipped his hand under her blouse, gently cupping her breast. "Monkey business?" he asked, flashes of amber permeating his blue irises.

"I wish," Buffy murmured as she leant into his arms. "Getting Dawn out of here business, unfortunately."

With a fond little tweak, Spike smoothed her blouse back down. "Fine,” he agreed, “but we’re getting back to this later. Now, where do we go from here? And will that ever stop conjuring up singing nightmares?"

"I wouldn’t call them nightmares, exactly." She blushed, remembering their first real kiss; one that wasn't under the influence of Willow's spell. In retrospect, their ‘engagement’ wasn’t so bad. Kinda sweet, actually.

"Seein' the world through rose-colored glasses again, love?” Spike took that moment to poke her in the shoulder. “If I remember correctly, you didn't exactly love me back then... 'Just wanted to feel', I believe you sang."

"Spike, please,” Buffy begged. “Don't…"

His quirked eyebrow told her more than words could possibly express.

"Fine," she huffed. "Whatever. I’m going to find Dean and see if I can scare up any more information. Can you try not to be a pain in the ass for a little while?"

And the second eyebrow rose up to meet its mate.

"Big Bad, here," Spike snorted, as if that covered everything.

Buffy swatted Spike's behind before planting a kiss on his cheek. "That's right... my Big Bad. And don't you forget it, mister. Later, I promise to knock all thoughts of those busty Asians right out of your mind."

***

Dean tried not to think of what the vampire and the slayer were doing in his kitchen as he made his way down to the range. He swore he'd scrub all the flat surfaces down with disinfectant before eating another thing in there.

He set up the targets, in need of a distraction from all the goings-on, adding a little something special to his first effort. He snagged his gun from the waist of his jeans and checked to see if it was loaded. Earphones on, he released the safety and took aim at the target – a cartoon image of Spike's face on it. The shot was exceptionally easy to make – Bullseye!

Unfortunately, that image was immediately overlaid in his mind with Benny's face, and suddenly Dean's hand shook.

He tried to shrug it off. Why was he putting the two vampires into the same boat? He wasn't having warm fuzzies for the blond vamp, but Spike hadn’t lived up to Benny’s description of a bloodthirsty killing machine, either. Why had he been so willing to take him out on Benny’s word alone? They were both vampires, both had a past history of killing… why was Benny ‘good’ and Spike ‘bad’?

Benny had never hidden his past, he'd known better than that. He'd killed another vampire, the very first minute they met. And yet Dean trusted him with his life. It was the same innate trust he had in Sammy to always have his back, which made him believe that it was the right thing to bring Benny back from Purgatory.

Dean fought hard to resist the urge to call Benny – to make sure that he was okay, but he had to trust Sam. He had to have enough faith in his brother to believe that he wouldn't harm Benny in spite of how he felt. It would have been simpler if Dean had gone with them or maybe in Sam’s place, but then who would be up to keeping an eye on their ‘guests’?

He didn't get attached to people, the exception being his brother, and still... people kept creeping up on him – worming their way into his consciousness – making him hurt when they left… or died; tearing his heart to pieces.

Maybe it was that he knew Benny. For all that he believed Sam's research on Slayers, who were definitely on the side of good, their notations on Spike distinctly made him out to be a vicious killer and a damned dangerous one, at that.

He couldn’t just take Buffy’s – a stranger's – word that the guy had reformed. But…

“Oh. My. God!” Buffy’s voice broke Dean’s from his reverie. “What is it with guys and drawing their ‘enemies’ as cartoon targets?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” she said, shaking her head. “As long as it helps to diffuse the tension between you and Spike...”

"Almost," Dean said, before rearming his gun and aiming it at the target, repeatedly hitting the heart.

“It's not like bullets kill vampires," Buffy said, waving off the results of Dean’s marksmanship. "So why bother?"

Dean grinned. "That's ‘cause you're not using the right kind of bullets."

Buffy’s eyes lit up. "No! You use wooden bullets?”

"I haven't tried those yet but that’s not a bad idea," Dean admitted. He emptied the used clip and reloaded, settling in front of the next target. "But you'd be surprised how much damage cast iron bullets dripped in holy water, or bullets inscribed with runes, can cause a demon."

"Personally, I prefer the classics," Buffy said, pulling a stake from behind her back and miming a killing move. "Stab, poof, no clean up. And they can easily pass through a metal detector, well… undetected."

Dean nodded, able to see her point. "I wish it were that simple. In hand-to-hand combat stakes could be a formidable weapon. However, half the time we end up running from the cops as often as we do from the demons, and we need something with a bit more range."

Buffy shivered, causing Dean to wonder if it was because she was truly chilly, wearing such a flimsy, little blouse, or because she was really that disgusted by his choice of arms. And if his eyes lingered a little too long on the curve of her breasts... sue him.

She immediately raised her arms, crossing them in front of her and blocking his view. "No wonder Spike wanted to deck you," she muttered. "You really need to stop with the blatant lookage."

"Not gonna happen, Cupcake. You're just too delicious for words. No touching, though," he said, holding his hands up to placate the irate woman. "But I'm all man, and it's a thing. I’m sure even your vampire…"

"You should ask Spike what happened to the last guy who treated women that way – as an object for their enjoyment. I'll give you a hint – it involved a wooden club and a man’s head.”

Dean laughed. "Maybe so, but you got to admit it's fun winding him up."

She paused for a moment, before looking him square in the eyes. "Spike wasn't the one wielding the club,” she said before picking up a gun and hefting it to test its weight.

Buffy rose up just the slightest bit in Dean's esteem. “That’s a Colt 1911 A1 – 45 caliber you have in your hands. I thought you didn't like guns," he said, watching as she sighted the target.

"I don't, as a rule,” she replied, twirling the gun around her finger. “It doesn't mean I don't know how to use one if I have to. I used a rocket launcher, once – that was fun,” she smirked. “Took out half a shopping mall along with this huge, blue demon, too."

Dean gave her another look, this time one of respect. "I once pulled a sword out of a stone with a little help from explosives… mostly. The sword came out in pieces, but the boom was fun."

"Pulled a scythe out of a stone, myself," Buffy giggled. Actually _giggled_ like a little girl. “No explosives necessary.”

"Showoff," he muttered, but there was no venom in his words.  
Buffy just preened.

"How about a challenge?" Dean asked and pushed the button to set up a couple of new targets.

"Such as?"

“Call a body part, and then hit it. Sort of like a game of Horse with bullets?"

"How about blindfolds?" Buffy countered, a gleam in her eyes.

"Really, Princess? Blindfolds?" Dean looked at her, incredulous.

"What? Haven't you ever been stuck in darkness, and had to hit something without being able to see it? It takes practice," she said, nodding. "Lots and lots and lots of practice, no matter what weapon you use."

"You're on," Dean said, accepting her terms. The way Buffy talked, she reminded him of Dad, with the same level of preparation; of training over and over until he could hit his target in the dark of night; on no sleep, no food; hands chilled to the bone.

Just how good was Ms. Buffy Summers? He wondered if her trainer – no, her _Watcher_ \- was as strict as Dad had been. Did she end up resenting _him_ as much as _he_ resented John, even as much as he loved him? _Whatever… now wasn’t the time for self-reflection._

“All right then,” Dean began, rubbing his hands in anticipation of putting Her Highness in her place. “Why don’t you suit up, fire a couple of rounds to get the feel of the Colt, and then we’ll go dark. I’m sure the Men of Letters have a couple of blindfolds stashed somewhere.” He rummaged through several drawers and with a shout of triumph, held up a handful. “First call's mine, babe. Head, heart, knee, shoulder."

Dean watched as she aimed. She was a bit slow with the first shot, clearly not used to holding a gun, but she quickly found her comfort zone and hit every target she aimed for.

"Not bad, kid, not bad at all." Dean smiled as he took the Colt from her. "Now let's see how the pros do." He knew that when he shot, it didn't look like he aimed. He did aim – he wasn't stupid – but he was so used to aiming and shooting in one motion, that it was barely distinguishable. Mere seconds later, all his targets had been hit dead on.

“Huh!” was all that Buffy said. Obviously the girl wasn’t used to not being the best.

Dean looked at her, trying to figure out what was going through her mind. "Don't get your panties in a bunch,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. “I've been shooting at things for so many years, it's second nature to me."

"You're not that much older than me," she said testily. "And I've been training since I was fifteen."

He gave her another look, feeling sorry that another child had lost her innocence about the world early on in the war against evil.

"My Dad started teaching me when I was about six. I still have the old sawed-off shotgun I made when I was eleven."

She stared back at him, an odd mixture of pity and annoyance crossed her face. "Life sucks, sometimes," was all she said.

"And yet we're still alive, so how bad can it be?" Dean replied.

"Well, besides the times we died." She smirked.

"Doesn't count if it doesn't stick," Dean retorted, throwing her one of the blindfolds he’d scrounged up earlier. _Tell that to those who mourned._ Dean shrugged it off, trying not to think of Sam in his arms, those horrifying hours that Sam had been dead. The crossroads deal had been a suicide as much as an attempt to get Sam back. He knew that now, and thinking of Sam, the way Ruby had wrapped him around her little finger because Dean hadn't been there to stop her...

He could only imagine Buffy's family and friends when they lost her.

Mentally, he gave himself another shake. "Enough... let's get back to the now, and get on with our little wager," he said. "I'll call the shots and you'll do your best. Just remember, the target's about six feet tall."

"I'll imagine it's you," Buffy said, glaring at him, before she pulled down the blindfold.

"Whatever floats your boat, sister."

She took aim again, waiting for Dean to call out the specific targets. Again, her first shot was a bit tentative, but she re-settled, managing to hit the remainder of the targets.

Whoever had trained her had done a good job at it, Dean thought. Especially if she hadn’t started until her mid-teens. Not that he’d ask a woman her age, but he didn’t think she was much more than thirty.

"Let's see it," she said, handing him the blindfold. Dean retrieved the target for her. Several shots were slightly off the mark from where she’d intended the hit.

“Considering guns aren’t your weapon of choice, you did fine,” Dean complimented. “At least all your shots hit the target.”

Buffy glared as she tied Dean’s blindfold, herself. “To keep you from cheating," she muttered.

He grinned as she did so, knowing it would annoy her, before turning to the target. He calmed, focused on the logistics of everything, and then he fired. He knew even before he took off the blindfold that he'd hit every target right on the nose.

"Okay, fine,” Buffy muttered. “Next time I go to a carnival, I'm taking you with me. You're going to win me the biggest damned bear they have, deal?"

Dean looked shocked. Holding his hand to his chest he said, "What? And risk your boyfriend eating me for lunch?"

She slapped at him in passing. Little love tap, he guessed – no real power behind it. "Hands off, princess,” he leered, “unless you want your pet vamp to think I'd gotten fresh with you."

"I should present you to him on a silver platter with an apple in your mouth," she muttered. “Pigs... you're all pigs!

"Oink, oink. So, how are you with throwing knives?" he asked, changing the topic. Nobody had ever accused him of using his brain.

"Knives, stars, swords... all good." Buffy was smiling again. Obviously she was more than comfortable with the steel.

An hour later, Dean couldn't help but be impressed. Damn, the girl was good. Not only with a gun, but with knives, as well. Her aim with a blade was impeccable, blindfolded or not. Part of him wished he didn't enjoy her company so damn much. It would be easier to hold onto his suspicions if he didn’t.

After Buffy left the room and Dean made sure she was out of sight, he pulled his phone out of his back pocket. "Hey Charlie, it's me,” he said when the call was picked up. “Did you get me the information I asked you for?”


	15. Chapter 15

_"Are you insane? It was made into Dawn to keep it hidden in the first place. You can't kill her! She's mine!"_

Xander's heart sank. He'd opened his big mouth once again, and put the woman he loved into danger. It's just... he was used to monsters being obvious. Evil was supposed to look like creatures from a Jim Henson workshop, not like black-suited accountants.

More importantly – angels weren't supposed to be monsters.

He had the funny feeling that Glory had been a walk in the park compared to what these angels could dish out. Xander’s grandfather used to be a strict churchgoer; however, whenever he got drunk he'd rail about God and how he'd smite down the wicked. The way he had looked at him, Xander always felt that Grandpa Harris judged him amongst the worst mankind had to offer, which included his father, Tony, the drunk.

And here he was, about to stand off against a trio of God's angels. Maybe gramps hadn’t been as far off in his assumption than Xander would have liked to believe.

"And who is this human-shaped Key?" The woman asked, soft-menace behind her words.

"I-I was j-just kidding," he stammered, running his fingers through his hair. “I tend to babble when I’m nervous, and hello? Angels? Not an everyday occurrence, which is why…”

But the angel wasn't even looking at him. The way they all focused on Sam Winchester, Xander felt as insignificant as a fly on the ceiling. It reminded him of the way most of Sunnydale’s demons had underestimated him, as if he wasn't even worth the time and effort it would take to attack.

It could be a good thing... maybe his big mouth hadn't screwed things up too badly, if only Winchester could talk his way out of this.

He wondered, however, about their rap as serial killers. If the Winchesters were important enough to catch heaven's attention like this, why would they go on a mass-murdering spree? Xander really wished Vi had been more forthcoming about her research. He could tell she was holding something back... and that didn't sit well.  
She'd never been so secretive before. Then again, how much had they really seen of her since she'd lost her powers? His brain hurt.

"Human key? I don't have any idea what you're talking about," Sam said, trying for innocent, but coming across as somewhat nauseous.

Sam looked as green as Andrew had when he'd tried to match Dawn one-one-one in a Doritos eating contest; that look on his face right before he ran out of the room and clung to the porcelain god for half the night. Sam really did look like he could die all on his own, before the angels had their way with him.

For some reason, it made Xander want to take him back home, tuck him into bed and take his temperature for good measure. Just when had he become Joyce Summers? He guessed that playing nursemaid to dozens of baby slayers had left its mark and he couldn’t help but look over at the big lug again.

Sam’s nose was bleeding, but instead of trying to staunch the flow, he seemed to be painting with it on the table in front of him. Xander couldn’t for the life of him figure out what the hell he was trying to accomplish.

One of the angels apparently noticed, and all of a sudden Sam was flung up against the back wall of the diner.

Benny started towards the angels and he, too, found himself flying against the same wall.

The trio of angels turned their attentions directly to Xander, as if daring him to do something.

Sam's nose was now bleeding in earnest, and again, he seemed to be painting something on the wall he lay against. It looked somewhat like an image from one of the Council’s books, though Xander couldn't remember when he’d seen it, or why.

Without warning, Sam slammed his hand on the image and the angels poofed! Gone... just like vamps, but with no ash floating in the breeze.

"Oh, shit!” Xander panicked. Had they just killed angels? Would he go to hell for this? Was he even responsible?

"It's an angel-banishing sigil,” Sam said, not even noticing Xander’s panic attack. He struggled to his feet. “We have to get out of here before they manage to come back."

"That's just... nifty." Xander moved to help Sam gain his footing. "You okay, man? And no way you're driving home... you'll just have to give directions."

Benny stood easily under his own power and followed the others towards the door. Suddenly his head turned sharply as if he'd heard something. The next moment he knocked Sam to the floor as a ball of energy shot towards them.

Xander grabbed a chair and held it in front of himself, and yes, he was well aware of how ridiculous it was to think a simple piece of furniture would ward off angels, when another one showed up inside the diner, holding what looked like a stick in his hand.

If he weren’t scared out of his wits, Xander would’ve mocked the silly-looking thing, until it was aimed directly at him. He wondered if _he_ slammed his hand into that blood painting – would the angel disappear again? Or was it tied to the blood's donor?

He didn't get the chance to try, as Benny lunged forward and attacked the angel instead. Not that the result amounted to anything; the angel grabbing Benny by the throat and held him aloft.

Seeing the soft-spoken vampire dangling like a toy bothered Xander more than he felt comfortable with. He’d been there before – with Spike – and while his antipathy towards the platinum blond had been warranted in the beginning, he’d held onto it far too long, much to his shame.

This time, he acted – he edged towards the bloodied wall, and slammed his fist into Sam’s mark. The angel vanished as quickly as the others before him, and Xander ran to Benny, who’d fallen to the ground, blood foam dripping from his mouth.

"Is he alright?" Sam asked, walking over to the fallen vampire.

Xander moved to feel for a pulse, before shaking his head. Fat lot of good that would tell with a vampire. "I thought you didn't like Benny. Why do you care how he is?" Xander was confused, especially since he remembered his hatred of Spike back in the day. He never would have asked or cared.

Benny coughed once, twice… blood now dripped from his nose, as well as his mouth.

“Gods, Sam… you realize that Benny saved your life when he took that hit for you?”

"I... he saved my life," Sam reiterated. "He didn't have to, and he still did."

Sam knelt down besides the unconscious vampire. “I don’t know why he did that,” he mumbled. “He knows…”

“He _knows_ how much Dean loves you,” was Xander’s simple reply. “Seems like Spike isn’t the only vampire with the warm fuzzies towards humans. The tortures he suffered through for Buffy… for all of us. I never gave him credit back then. Maybe you should rethink your attitude towards Benny. If your brother has such faith in him… maybe there’s a good reason.”

"The angel’s touch has to be affecting Benny’s brain. I saw Castiel kill a vampire by destroying her like that." Melancholy crept into the man’s voice as he slowly shook his head.

Benny stirred and then haltingly sat up. “"Not like I wanna face Dean if I’d let you die," he said, voice laced with pain.

Xander smiled as he and Sam helped the beleaguered vampire to his feet.

"We'd better get back to the bunker, let the others know that the angels are out in force after Dawn." Sam said.

“How can we be sure they won't follow us?" Ever practical, Xander was worried.

"The Impala is warded. Has been for years. With Lucifer and Michael after us, we had to do everything possible to stay out of sight."

"Heh - an angel disinvite spell." Xander had to laugh, remembering Cordelia wanting a disinvite spell against Angel for her car.

"It's based on the carvings Cas carved into our ribs a few years back. There're times I wish he hadn't healed us quite so thoroughly. Those carvings were actually useful."

"So _what_ exactly did you and your brother do to get both heaven and hell so pissed off with you?" Xander asked as they headed to the car.

Sam shook his head. “You have a couple of years to spare?” he asked.

Maybe, just maybe, Xander didn't need to get all of his information from Vi. Maybe he should trust that Sam would tell him the truth. And if he did, then, well… he’d see how the story shaped up. With luck, he’d have some news for Buffy and Dawn by the time they got back.

***

Charlie stared at herself in the mirror. What the frilly heck was she gonna do now? For most of her adult life, she’d been on the run from something or other; taking various aliases – always those of her beloved scifi authors – Heinlein, Asimov, Tolkien; names that wrapped around her like a cape, keeping her safe. Even now she was ‘Charlie Bradbury’, another total fabrication, but one that suited her more than any other so far.

The name changes were old hat, but the meshing of an old life and her current life? _That_ was new, and a complication she’d hoped to avoid. And had, until now.

Dean Winchester. God, she’d fallen in love with him. Not in the romantic, sexy way, considering she didn’t even drive stick, but deeper. Ever since he’d gotten his inner-geek on playing Moondoor, he’d become family. The dear, sweet older brother she’d never had. Sam was okay - smart and clever, but it was Dean who held her geeky heart. Platonic soul mates. They trusted each other as much as they could trust anyone, and now she was afraid she’d have to betray that very trust.

And not only Dean’s. Buffy’s, too. Definitely a sister Slayer; at least until Vi had lost her powers. Which was where her current incarnation grew from. Now she had both Xander and Dean asking questions about the other – where did her loyalties lie? Would she have to choose between them? Could she play both sides and not hurt anyone?

Real life sucked. No re-boots, no do-overs.

“Well, Charlie? What’d you find out?” Dean’s impatient voice sounded in her ear. “Can this Spike actually be trusted? Does his supposed ‘soul’ make a difference?”

“I checked out the FBI files to see if there was anything on record… but aside from an unsolved murder in the New York City subways in 1977, there’s nothing. Some witnesses claimed to see a fight between a platinum haired punk and a black woman, but he was never found.”

"Past history is all good, but I need something more current," Dean insisted, pushing her for more information.  
There are some locked military files and a few red-flags pertaining to Spike, but it's all classified. Do you want me to hack them?"

"Again, depends on what years they cover. Anything past won't tell me about the now." Dean was getting frustrated, making him sharper-tongued than he should have been. "C'mon, Charlie - you've gotta give me something."

"Why is this so important?" Charlie asked, worrying at a bit of cuticle on her nail with her teeth. "Since when do you want me to look up information on vampires? Don’t you just kill them?"

"Since this particular vampire is currently staying at the bunker!" Dean fought to gain control of himself. "I need to know if I can trust him around Sam. I need to know if Buffy's right, when she says he's changed."  
"In fact, I need to know about Buffy Summers, as well."

“Buffy?” Charlie squeaked. “What kind of name is Buffy?” she asked, trying to cover her little gaffe. She swallowed, hard. _Spike was at the bunker? Buffy and her vampire were at the bunker? Why the hell didn't Xander tell her that part?_

_Crap! Crap! Crap!_

_If all Dean needed was a character reference for Buffy, would she really be betraying anything by giving it to him? She didn't have to go into the whole 'slayer’ bit... just that she was an upstanding woman who looked after her sister._

_And had a vampire for a boyfriend._

_But Spike was safe – trustworthy and loyal; anyone connected with the council knew that. The vamp had even sacrificed his unlife for them all - for the world. But nobody was supposed to know about that. Not unless they were connected to the council; and the only way to tell Dean that was to tell him the truth._

_There wasn't really a choice, was there?_

"Dean... there's something you have to know."


	16. Chapter 16

Dean paced the width of the room and back, arguing with himself. "No, no," he muttered, shaking his head. "Can't even think for one moment that Crowley would be helpful here."

Buffy stood up, hands on the table. "Wanna share with the class? Don't you think we should all have a say in who can and can't help here?"

"Demon – King of hell. Don't ask." Sam whispered softly.

"No way - not another Hell God." Buffy rolled her eyes. “Probably Glory’s baby brother with a grudge.”

"Alright then, I'm crossing off anyone from Arashmahar from our little list of potential helpers," Xander added. "Vengeance demons as a rule like to twist your words around until you find there’s a giant worm chasing your ass, just because you used to date a jerk.”

Buffy gently patted his hand, understanding all too well that Anya still held a piece of his heart.

"Vengeance, like magic, always has consequences," Spike joined in. "It never works out well."

"It really, really does,” Buffy agreed. “But what the hell are we supposed to do? Sit here until we get old and gray?" She was more than frustrated after useless hours of research and debate.

Spike murmured, "No worries here, love. At least I'll still be pretty. Ow! What was that for?" he growled.

“I’m sorry. Did I hurt your little toes?” Buffy had stomped hard enough on his foot to be felt through his Doc’s.

He just swiped his tongue along his lips, and then curled it behind his teeth in that ‘melt your panties’ expression and Buffy blushed. She couldn’t help her reaction.

"God, you two - stop with the foreplay and get serious, will you?" Xander, long since accustomed to such behavior, rolled his eyes. To show his indifference, he then lifted his feet to place them on the table, ignoring Buffy’s frown.

Benny came out of the kitchen, holding a steaming tureen of gumbo in one hand and a stack of bowls in the other. The southern vamp was the smartest one of the lot of them, figuring out how to escape from this useless borefest. Dean had tried slipping away to join him, but Sam’s glare stayed Dean’s feet.

For the fiftieth time today, Buffy wished she could be a peon instead of a general. But no... not to be, and Dawn was still the most important thing right now… so Buffy polished up her brass stars and got back to business.

"So we agree… no help from demons, vengeance or otherwise, angels or gods, unless..." she was suddenly struck with a bit of inspiration. “What about the Powers that Be?"

"Huh?" Dean was eloquent in his confusion. "The what now?"

"The Powers That Be,” she repeated. “They're this major force of… well, not good, exactly, but of balance. If a single faction of heaven got their hands on the Key’s power, it wouldn’t sit well with them at all.

"There really is," she stated with emphasis, "A possibility of too much good." Buffy thought of the backlash of evil that hundreds of Slayers brought into the world, and shuddered. The rise of evil to compensate kept them all way too busy for her liking.

"And just how do we contact these Powers that Be?" Sam asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Obviously he was still suffering from those headaches that had laid him up the previous night.

"I have no idea. Angel would know, but... I haven't heard from him in years." Not since he'd gone undercover after the shit storm he’d caused at Wolfram and Hart.

"Poof," Spike muttered, sotto voce. "Never there when you need 'im."

"And who the fuck is _Angel_?" Dean asked.

"Angelus, right?" Sam asked, turning to Buffy for affirmation. "I read about him when I was researching Spike. The old Watchers’ diaries said he was particularly... treacherous."

Both Spike and Buffy snorted at that.

Dawn, of course, had to add her two cents to the mix. "His hair stood straight up, like a porcupine's quills. But to be fair, we’re talking about his souled self – Angel – not Angelus."

She held a stack of a dozen or so books in her hands which she dropped down onto the table with a heavy thud, nearly toppling the pile straight into the tureen of gumbo that Benny was currently serving.

"The vamp can cook," Spike said, smacking his lips. "Could smell the spices from clear across the room – enough in here to make the eyes water."

"Does that mean the rest of us need a gallon of milk?" Xander murmured.

"I have Maalox with me," Buffy offered. "Never leave home without it."

"And here I finally thought he wasn't trying to kill us," Sam said, waving his hand above his bowl. “My nostrils are singed just smelling this stuff.”

"Quit yer bitchin’, Sammy. Vampires have tastebuds just like the rest of us… they just need a little more help than we do. Well, at least Benny's kind of vamp. Can't say anything about his lot," Dean said, pointing his fork at Spike.

"My lot can taste just fine, git," Spike mumbled around a mouthful of gumbo. "The spice just helps focus the flavor."

"Just good old Southern country cookin," Benny preened. "My mama taught me the basics when I was a young'un, and I've played around ever since."

Buffy spooned the spicy gumbo into her mouth with gusto. More than likely Spike’s taste in food had rubbed off on her over the years. She actually held out her bowl for seconds, noting the proud smile on Benny’s face as he happily filled it.

She never understood how Spike managed to cook. Yeah, he mostly made simple meals, but he was better at it than she was. When she tried her hand at food preparation, she was so busy trying to get everything just right that she lost sight of the bigger picture. The cooking gene apparently skipped Dawn, as well. Nobody would ever forget the younger Summers’ gruesome experiments in food preparation during her teen years. 

None of that mattered right now, though, she thought as she spooned yet another heap of gumbo into her mouth. So much better than fast food on the run.

“Look,” she said after swallowing her last mouthful. "I know Angel used to talk to 'the Oracles', but Fred told Willow that they were actually murdered a few years ago. The only connection I ever had to the Powers that Be was Whistler."

"Whistler? The painter?" Dean grew defensive at the looks of disbelief aimed at him. "What? I went to school," he said. "Sometimes I even paid attention."

Buffy groaned in sympathy with the older Winchester. It was kind of insulting when everyone questioned your intelligence. She, herself, had been underestimated many, many times over. "No, not the painter - the Powers that Be's messenger," she said kindly. “He’s a demon working to keep balance in the world. The guy looked like a sleaze and had no fashion sense and was more annoying than Spike ever was. Last time I saw him I threatened to make a hat out of his ribcage."

"Slayer love talk," Spike snorted.

"Yeah well, you know how much I hate cryptic prophesy stuff. If you've got to say something, just say it – don't talk circles around it, hoping I'll figure out your clues."

"And this is the guy you're pinning my hopes on? Guess I'm gonna die here of old age," Dawn muttered.

"Whistler's the guy that actually sicced Angel on me when I was still in Hemery. He might be a little twerp, but he's the only link we've got.”

Spike’s sub-vocal growl ramped up a decibel or two. "That's the pillock I have to thank for nearly ruining your life?"

"Well… he did say, they never saw me and Angel coming. Obviously they're not omnipotent - we humans can still screw things up with free will."

Dean snorted at that. Buffy wondered why Sam didn't just slap him; it was obvious he needed it.

"So what side is this Whistler on again?" Sam asked. 

"Nobody's," Buffy said. "Again, the Powers that Be are neither good nor evil – they strive for balance."

“And just how do you plan on finding this 'balance' demon?" Dean asked. "It’s not like he carries a cell phone. He doesn’t, does he?"

"Spike... where did that worm Willy move his place to?" Buffy asked, suddenly turning to her vampire. "Last I heard, he was actually hanging out somewhere in Kansas, right?"

"Nice coincidence," Sam muttered.

“Out in the boonies somewhere… place called Stull,” Spike said. “Some new Hellmouth was s’posed to become active, so old Willy decided to take advantage and move his business there. It never actually opened, but the demons are still there and where there are demons, there’s always a need for booze and information."

For some reason the Winchesters shared a look. “Stull’s less than four hours from here,” said Dean. “Could make a nice daytrip out of it. Or night…” conceding Spike’s limitations.

Buffy stood, her version of gameface on. "What say we pay old Willy a visit, then?"

***

Castiel had been on the run for several days – ever since entrusting the Key to the Winchesters – hopping in and out of places like playing hopscotch; different cities and different Biggerson’s restauraunts as the playing board. Every so often he’d go back to the bunker to check up on the Winchesters, but for the most part he tried to stay away; to keep his brothers from realizing what he’d done.

When Ion caught up with him in Houston, he flashed out, but Aziel and Macharias had somehow anticipated his next move and were already waiting for him. He pulled out his sword, ready to fend off their attack.

“Please brothers, this is not what our father would have wanted for us,” he pleaded, knowing ahead of time that they would not listen. He wondered if they were under Naomi’s thumb as tightly as he had been. He'd prefer to think _that_ , rather than they were after him of their own free will.

"The Key belongs to Heaven, Castiel. Where did you hide it?" Aziel stood fierce, his eyes burning into the beleaguered angel.

"You know I'm not going to tell you... or lead you to it," he said, sadly.

Macharias came closer, circling around him. "There are only so many places you could have hidden it, Castiel. For its presence is too unique to stay hidden for long. Sooner or later, it will out itself, despite your hindrance."  
Castiel stood, steadfast in manner and belief. "The Key will not serve as a 'bargaining chip' to change the balance of power in Heaven, my brothers. I won't allow it. We're fractured enough."

"As if _you_ of all beings – after what you've done – have the right to..." Ion glared, going silent. He didn't need to continue for Castiel to get his unspoken point.

"I don't hold the Key for my own power," Castiel insisted. "It has been hidden for millennia - there is no need for anyone to yield it now."

"Like you did not commit the utter blasphemy of declaring yourself God. Even Lucifer did not have the temerity to reach that far." Aziel was furious in his righteousness.

Castiel hung his head in shame. "I have learned my lessons, brothers, unlike you."

"Please brother, return the Key,” Macharius entreated, obviously trying another tactic, “and heaven may still offer forgiveness, even for this new sin."

But it was an empty lie and both sides knew this.

Apparently, it was also the last of the fragile detente between them - Macharius lunged towards Castiel, sword drawn.

Castiel grabbed his brother by the hair, baring his throat. A flash of blade, and the deed was done - the force of Macharias’grace as it escaped into the ether burnt out across dimensions. Castiel felt the wound keenly in his own soul - as he did every time he had to end the existence of another celestial being.

For all that Dean loved his own brother, Castiel doubted that he had ever been able to see the sacrifice that Castiel had made for his sake… losing his place amongst those that had once been a part of his very essence.   
He forced himself to fly to the other side of the world, but his brothers were right behind him. Ion grabbed hold of him and forced him to the ground, coming to rest on an ages-old glacier.

A century from now the crack their impact created would split the glacier. A thousand years from now, it would separate into two parts, sending them in opposing directions.

Castiel hit his brother once again, desperate to get away from him. "Why. Can't. You. See. Reason?" he barked out, trying to evade Ion's blows. Just as he was about to try another escape, both of them heard the summons.  
The message was simple – to search not just for what was there, but for what was not. And as there were only a limited number of truly hidden places in the world, it was now just a matter of time before the Key was found. From the look on Ion's vessel's face, he realized it at the same time as Castiel, himself, did.

The smile on his face was terrifying.

"Please, it must stay hidden," Castiel whispered. He tried once more to leave, but Ion grabbed his shoulder with one arm, his sword piercing Castiel’s vessel's stomach, deeply enough to reach the edges of his grace. Using the last vestiges of his strength, he managed to fly away; covering his tracks around the world before he penetrated the bunker's library, landing at the Key’s feet.

Stunned, he had no problem overwhelming her, even in his diminished state. Castiel knew he had little or no time left, mere seconds before _they_ would find her. In a move born of desperation, he maneuvered her to the floor and placed his hand against her chest. He ignored her screams and thrashing, barely finished carving the protection sigils into her ribs when he was tackled to the ground by the Slayer’s boy.   
He hadn't lost consciousness since he'd been severed from heaven. He did not like the feeling, and then he felt no more.


	17. Chapter 17

“Dawn, no!” Xander yelled. One moment he’d been sitting quietly, watching his girl nose deep in research, and the next, he saw the angel, Castiel, appear from nowhere and attack Dawn.

Their screams brought in the rest of the team, Buffy fluttering over her sister, trying to calm the stricken girl. Spike roared and hurled himself at the creature who had dared to cause his Bit pain. And then he roared again, this time in pain as his leading hand immediately erupted in oozing blisters.

Dean jumped into the fray as well, grabbing Spike before he hit Castiel again. The angel lay crumpled in a heap on the floor. “Dude... you're not doing anyone any favors burning yourself up."

Buffy turned around, glaring at Dean. Spike was only trying to defend Dawn. There was no need to keep him in a chokehold. It took a few moments for her to realize Spike was being restrained lest he cause more damage to himself… not because they were afraid he’d hurt the angel.

"Listen, I know what it looked like, but Cas wasn't trying to hurt your sister," Dean said, trying to placate Dawn’s family and friends.

"S’pose her screams were a sign of all the fun she was having?" Spike held his injured arm close to his chest, posturing as best he could in spite of the pain.

"Remember what I told you about the sigils Sam and I used to have that hid us from angels? I'm positive that if she was X-rayed right now, she'd have the same sigils carved into her ribs."

"So she's safe now?" Buffy asked, eyes wide with hope. "We can take her home?"

"No, the angels will still be looking for her, and with our luck, they'll get every nut job they can find to look out for her."

"It should give us time," Sam added, still kneeling besides the unconscious angel. "We can't be one hundred percent sure about that... but Cas probably felt this was a last-ditch effort to keep her safe."

Xander shook his head, dismissing everyone but his beloved. "I'm more worried about you, sweetheart. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I-I'm fine,” Dawn said, struggling to sit up. “And... ouch." Clutching her sides, she gave up and lay back down. She crossed her arms against her chest, desperate to ignore Castiel’s blood drenching her clothes.

Catching Dawn’s line of sight, Xander huffed. “What’s up with Winchester playing Florence Nightingale? That bastard hurt you. I don’t care if…”

"Xander, stop. He's bleeding badly," Dawn said softly, noticing the blood pooling beneath the angel's trenchcoat. “He needs help.”

Dean had joined his brother at the unconscious angel's side, lifting Castiel’s shirt to better see the actual wound. "Not good," he muttered. "It must be really deep for Cas to be out like this. Probably one of their swords."  
Sam handed Dean a small bottle of clear liquid which he proceeded to pour directly into the wound. “Holy water,” he said to nobody in particular. “We have to try something to stop the bleeding.”

"I thought I was gonna lose you all over again," Xander murmured, turning once again to Dawn. He gently carded his fingers through the soft fall of her hair.

"I'm fine," she insisted, but she didn't push him away.

Xander's heart soared. "Dawn, look..."

"No, no more, Xander," Dawn pleaded. "It's... it's... I'm fine, really. I get that you didn't mean to hurt me. I do... and in time, I'll be able to put the image of you and her... me... behind us. I'm not gonna punish you any more for it. I promise."

She leaned over, and gently kissed him on the lips.

He wanted to grab her and pull her closer, but instead he momentarily froze at her touch, slowly allowing his hands to encircle her waist. "Will it hurt you if I hug the stuffing out of you?" he asked, tearing up.

"It'll hurt more if you don't," she replied, leaning into his arms.

Xander gathered her close and scooped her up into his arms. He made their way back to her room and they both sank down onto the bed, just relishing each other’s closeness. She felt so warm to his touch; as if the cold grip surrounding his heart was finally gone.

Buffy knocked on the door and cleared her throat. "Everything all right in here?" she asked, still looking worried.

"Better by the moment," Xander said, smiling widely.

"As soon as Spike's arm is wrapped and Dean deals with Castiel, we're gonna head out to find Willy. We can't waste anymore time just sitting here like rats in a cage."

"What about Dawn?"

"Yeah, what about me?" Dawn sat up, gingerly holding her side.

“One, she can’t leave, so she’s obviously staying here,” Buffy said, the ‘duh’ evident in her voice. “Two, with you and Benny here to keep an eye on the angel, Dawn should be fine. We have to take the Winchesters at their word – that the angel sigils will keep her safe… at least for now.

"Now that you and Dawn seem to have made up, I'm sure she'll be happy that you're staying there with her. Spike and I are more than capable of beating the shit out of Willie to find what we need."

"And I'm guessing the Winchesters are coming with you?" Xander couldn’t help but hope that at least one of them would be staying.

“Just as soon as Dean is ready, we'll be on our way."

"What is it with that guy anyway? Does he have a thing for Benny or the angel?" Xander couldn’t help but add. “And to think I thought you had a complicated love life.”

Buffy pressed a kiss to her sister’s head and then headed out of the room. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she called out over her shoulder.

“Guess that means anything goes,” Dawn snickered, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Xander just smiled as he eased the sodden cloth from Dawn’s body. “Shower first, then cuddle time,” he murmured.

***

Wiping down the bar's countertop, Willy felt a chill... like someone walking over his grave, his dear old mother would have said. If she wasn't currently off somewhere in Florida using up the last of her money, just to make sure he wouldn’t get any of it.

He grabbed a blood bag – donated by a druggie last week – out of the fridge and put it in the microwave before serving it to the vamp sitting at the bar, and readied a yak piss cocktail for the Skraither demon sitting next to him.

Taking care of a demon bar was a tough job, and getting more difficult every year. Especially once those damn blackblooded freaks made their appearance a couple of years ago. They’d totally messed with his clients’ food supply. At least six of his best customers ended up leaving the dimension rather than worry about contaminated food.

They’d stuck him with several crates of Feshnik kidneys that went bad and stunk out the bar, closing it for a week.

God, he hated this place. He never thought he'd miss Sunnydale as much as he did.

He'd come here about five years ago because all the signs had told him that this was the place; demons, dark energies… everything necessary to make a profit all in one place.

Sure he could have gone to Cleveland; another Hellmouth was right up his alley. But after the new Slayer headquarters opened up, he figured he’d had enough of little girls coming into his establishment and beating up on him for information.

He'd figured that dealing with some guy calling himself the devil would be a lot easier than messing in the slayers’ backyard. Like he really believed in the devil.

Only then the promised Hellmouth never opened. Supposedly, the Pokti and R’noke clans had argued over who would be the ruling clan, and after the battle, both left; their numbers decimated. Most of Willy’s patrons went off looking for darker places to call home. It took him a long time to build up a new clientele, and he really wanted to keep it.

Willy looked up suddenly when his door slammed open. Striding in was the one person he'd never thought to see again - _The_ Slayer - Buffy Summers. And for crap’s sake... right behind her was William the Bloody. Spike... as if he'd not caused more than his fair share of trouble back at the Alibi Room.

He was surprised to find that he was actually happy to see them. Not that he'd ever let them know.

"H-hey, Slayer," he greeted her. "Long time, no see. How's things by you?" His forced cheer was not going over well.

A handful of clients quickly made their way to the exit, leaving only about three or four black-eyed demons to stay and watch the show. Those idiots never seemed to know what was good for them.

As per her usual MO, Buffy reached across the bar and grabbed Willy by his shirt, dragging him halfway across the countertop.

"Awww, missed me?" he said, not entirely forcing a smile.

"Willy, you repulse me," she said. “I need to take a shower after just being in your presence.”

And of course Spike was standing behind her, doing nothing but enjoying the view.

Willy wondered how helpful he should be, since he didn't want to entirely ruin his reputation. As Buffy wasn’t actually hurting him at the moment, he relaxed enough to notice that the blonde duo wasn't alone.

At first sight the slightly less gigantic guy reminded him a bit of the Slayer’s old soldier pal – all-American type dressed up in leather. He’d written him off as useless and was about to check out the taller one, when he noticed the look in the guy's eyes.

"Oh fuck, the Winchesters," he heard one of his customer's say before he could say a word, and the rest of the patrons bolted for the door.

"I see you’re still no good for my business, Slayer. What's wrong? Need backup to beat on me for a change?" Willy wouldn't admit it, but he was terrified. He'd heard of these Hunters... and combined with the Slayer and her pet vampire, he could be in for a world of hurt.

With the bar empty, Willy tried to split his attention between Buffy and the oldest Winchester. You heard stories, running a bar like this.

Sure, there was the usual talk, about slayers, Hellmouths and Hellgates. About Leviathans and their plans to turn all of humanity into kibble. He’d been so pissed off, having to eat nothing but organic food for over a year until the food supply cleared up.

And then there were the Winchester stories…

"I'll never need backup to beat your scrawny ass, Willy," Buffy growled, pulling him closer yet and focusing his attention fully on her once more. "As usual, we need information. What do you hear about Whistler?"

"Wha-what?" He dared to check out the elder Winchester again, and the half-sneer on his lips made Willy remember the tales of how Winchester had spent forty years as the apprentice to hell's top torturer.

"Whistler, you git. Heard of his whereabouts?" Spike interrupted, a snarl on his own lips as he joined his Slayer.

Willy was torn. He knew the Slayer had no problems laying some hurt on him, but he couldn’t stop looking at the Winchesters. It’s been said that the taller one was the devil's meatsuit. Looking at him, Willy shuddered. The stories said that he kicked the devil's ass and dragged him back into hell, only to spend centuries as his guest. And yet, somehow, he'd escaped; all of which promised trouble.

He had never been a believer in stuff like that. Sure he knew that demons existed; Sunnydale drove that point home every single night, but whatever that thing that called itself the devil was, it had been powerful as all get out.

"C'mon, Willy, say something... anything! You’re gonna give me a complex." Buffy shook him like a rag doll in the face of his silence. He felt as if his brains were scrambling in his head, and it took a bit before he could gather his thoughts enough to speak.

"I haven't seen him," Willy managed to croak out.

Buffy drew back her arm to punch him, but it was Dean that Willy kept staring at, desperate to keep an eye on whatever the guy was doing.

"You know who I am?" Dean asked, walking up to the bar. "You wouldn't be lying to us now, would you?"

"I swear, on the soul of my mother, may she rot in hell, and take those little rat dogs of her with her. I haven't seen him. C’mon, Slayer… lemme go," he whined, looking anywhere but at her annoyed face. "This is my place of business... I can't be seen this way."

"There's nobody here but us, Willy," she chided, though she did release him.

"Yeah… well... look, last I heard, he was somewhere in LA, but that was years ago."

Sam Winchester hadn’t moved a step closer, but those eyes of his... Willy could feel them boring into his skull.

"But I know a ritual you can use to summon him and... demons are always using magic to conjure up someone or other... and, well, they talk," he explained. "After all, one trusts one’s barkeep to stay mum about their doings. It's in the code."

Dean snorted at that. Even his giant oaf of a brother smiled.

"Like the pirate code, you mean." Spike had jumped over the counter and started pouring himself a drink from Willy’s best. “Any of you blokes want a drink?” he asked the Winchesters.

"Hey!" Willy's indignant squawk didn't faze Spike in the slightest.

"Get me a diet coke will you?" Buffy chimed in. “You _do_ have Diet Coke, don’t you, Willy?”

Even though being man-handled and threatened by Buffy was somewhat nostalgic, Willy decided he wasn’t so happy to see the ex-Sunnydalians again. “Have to make do with regular,” he said, cringing at the look in her eyes. “’Fraid the clientele around here don’t go much for the diet stuff.” He swallowed loudly in relief when she acquiesced.

Everyone pulled up chairs and sat down at one of the round tables, looking expectantly at Willy for some kind of miracle. "You want the laundry list of spell ingredients?" he asked, nervously clasping his hands.

"And a list with the correct pronunciation of every word, if you don't mind. Or maybe…," Dean said, "you could do the spell, yourself. This way if something goes wrong, it's on your greasy head."

"But..." Oh fuck, he didn't want to die, but he was sure everyone in the Slayer’s party would kill him anyway if he didn't agree.

"You know, that's a good idea," Buffy seconded. "About time you put your life on the line for something other than yourself."

"Please Slayer. I'm just a helpless business man."

Begging the Winchesters would be useless. They were the monsters that demons were afraid of. Maybe if he could get the Slayer to protect him from them...

"Helpless, my lily-white arse," Spike snarled, eyes flashing yellow.

The Winchesters obviously took it for granted that he would do as asked, and began to set up the area for a ritual.

"Looks like you boys are familiar with spells," Buffy noted, indicating the various tools they'd slipped from their pockets.

They didn't bother to answer her.

"Are we missing anything?" It took him a minute to realize that Sam was talking to him.

"Regular boy scouts, you are," Willy said, nervous, but resigned to doing the spell.

He did make sure to check everything over. Doing this spell was bad enough. Doing it wrong and accidentally conjuring the wrong demon... that could be a disaster.

They were in luck... all of the actual spell ingredients were found in the bar. Willy kept a great variety of stuff in stock. You never knew what a demon would want when he walked into the bar, and you sure as hell didn't want to disappoint him. Not and expect to live to tell the tale.

Willy had made a good life that way, and he was planning to keep it.

He put the ingredients in the vessel in the proper order, and chanted the spell's words... taking his time and enunciating clearly. When he was done, a flash of grey smoke bloomed upwards and...

"Slayer," the demon smiled, doffing his hat. He caught sight of the Winchesters and backed up. Or rather he tried to back up, but found himself trapped instead.

"Still the same snappy dresser, eh, Whistler?" Buffy quipped, staring at the ridiculous hat on his head.

"I'll have you know this is top fashion," Whistler said, sounding slightly offended. "What are they doing here?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Gotta say, Slayer... the Powers that Be never could see your allies coming. First Angel, then Spike... and now the Winchesters. Amazing."

Willy couldn't blame the demon for the shaky note in its voice.

"Can I help it if all the good guys want to play with me?" Buffy smirked, 

" _Good_ being a relative term, you realize," Whistler shot back.

"How much do you know about the Key?" Spike interrupted. Patience was never his long suit.

Buffy smacked him on the arm. "Way to be cautious, jerk," she smiled, her expression incongruous with her words.

"Key? What key? A house key? Locker key?" Whistler's flippant tone made Willy cringe. He knew the Slayer wouldn't take that lightly.

"Green mystical ball of energy thing. What do you know?" Dean had taken a step forward. “Tears down dimensional walls?”

"N-nothing, it was lost, centuries ago." Whistler was definitely hiding something beneath his bravado.

"The angels are trying to get their hands on it," Sam said, sounding almost patient, understanding. His quiet tone probably made him more dangerous than his brother.

"Problem is, the angels have broken into factions; fighting amongst themselves. They want this Key to change the balance of the war they're waging." Dean sighed deeply, and then stretched, trying to rid his body of the tension he felt.

"So I should help you get it instead?" The sound Whistler made could almost be described as a chuckle, only more desperate.

"I – we’re not that crazy," Dean snorted. “We’re not looking for the Key… we just need information.”

"We already have the Key," Buffy said, her impatience showing. "Unfortunately, it's not an object - it was turned into a human being by the monks protecting it - they made it my little sister."

"And right now, she's trapped by an angel trying to protect her from the heavenly hordes," Dean butted in. "We need her to be safe, and able to leave the building."

"So _you_ can use it?" Whistler said in fear.

"I'd no more let anyone 'use' that young woman as I'd let Lucifer wear my brother to the prom, again."

"How do you draw these people to you, Slayer?" Whistler wondered aloud.

"My good looks and winning personality?" she said, looking at him as if sugar wouldn’t melt on her tongue. “We’re not here to discuss me and my friends. We don’t matter. You're supposed to be all about balance, right? So, in your opinion… wouldn't it 'upset' that balance if the Key fell into the hands of one of heaven's factions?”

"That it would," Whistler agreed.

"And wouldn’t it ... say, support that balance, if the Key were to disappear from Heaven’s… or Hell’s radar, go back home to Cleveland and live a nice comfy life as a Watcher, ultimately dying of very, very, very old age, instead?"

"I suppose keeping it out of play would keep the balance nicely."

"Castiel has already carved these sigils into her bones to keep the angels from finding her, or so Dean tells me. But will that be enough?"

Whistler nodded. "Should be… for awhile. Until the angels figure out to look where she isn’t."


	18. Chapter 18

Dawn stepped out of the shower, wrapped the towel around her body and left the bathroom. She was deftly weaving a second towel into a turban around her hair when she noticed Xander on the bed, hugging her pillow to his chest.

She leaned over and kissed his temple. "Xander," she whispered. "It's time to get up."

"Just ten more minutes, Mom," he muttered, though it sounded more like “justin minorum.” Dawn was well-versed in sleepy Xander-speak.

Dawn whipped the covers off, causing Xander to sit up in a panic. "Whoa... you're not Mom," he panted, running his hand through the tufts of his hair that were sticking up at all angles. "Thank Zeus for that."  
She threw him a pair of boxers and walked away, an exaggerated sway to her hips giving him a view worth waking up for as she moved around the room.

Her duffel bag lay on the floor, and Dawn bent low to retrieve one of the dresses that Buffy had had insisted she pack. She knew she didn’t have to make the extra effort to look nice – it wasn’t like Xander would love her less in her frumpy sweats, but it felt like an apology for condemning him over something that truly hadn't been his fault.

She drew the line at stockings, however - summer was the time for bare feet and sandals.

Xander sidled up behind her and pulled her close enough for her to feel how very glad he was that they had mended their fences. "Wanna take another shower, babe?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows and making his 'sexy face'. At least the one he insisted was sexy-looking like a roguish pirate.

She playfully shoved him away. "Just go take a shower, you pervert," she said with a grin. "Some of us have work to do if I ever want to leave this place. Especially since we want to get out of here before things start to sag," she added, waggling her own eyebrows.

"Dawn, as long as it's you, I wouldn’t care if ‘things’ hit the floor. When we're old and grey; if I am walking with a cane and you are in a wheelchair; none of that will matter. You know that, right?

"Sweet talker," she replied, gently bumping hips."But you know what I mean. I want to get out of here. I want to go home. With you."

"I want that, too," he murmured. "Because you deserve better than to be stuck here. No matter how safe that trench-coated Christmas tree topper thought you'd be here.”

The last image that Dawn saw as she left the bedroom was Xander's hairy, naked behind as he closed the bathroom door behind him.

She smiled to herself that even though it was barely six a.m., he had woken up just because she’d asked him to.  
Dawn headed down the hallway and spotted the open door to Dean's room. Benny sat vigil over Castiel's still body.

She had wondered why they hadn't just put the angel in one of the many empty rooms, but Dean had given ‘that’ look – reminiscent of Willow’s resolve face – and it was a done deal.

Entering slowly, not wanting to startle the vampire, or wake the angel, for that matter, Dawn asked, "How's he doing?" as she stopped right next to Benny’s chair.

"I don't rightly know,” Benny mused. “He hasn't moved a lick since he hit the floor in the library last night." Benny chuckled lowly. "I'm just a vampire. Caring for angels is a bit out of my league."

"At least you don't blister and burn if you have to touch him. That helps," Dawn said, kindly.

Benny picked up a bottle of holy water from the night table and slowly poured it over the angel's injury.

"Do you really think that's doing him any good? I mean, you’re just wetting the gauze. Shouldn’t you take it off and clean the injury?”

"Well, it’s what Dean asked me to do, whether it’s helpful or not. Either way, it’s better than just sitting here, staring at him lying there like a half-naked corpse," Benny said.

Dawn snorted indelicately at that.

“At least it makes me feel like I’m doing something," he murmured

"Well, on that note, I've got to hit the kitchen. I desperately need to make a pot of coffee before Xander gets out of the shower."

Benny smiled warmly at her. "Sweetheart, I don't know what's up between you two, but you don’t have to bribe him with caffeine. He's yours, no matter what. Anyone can see that."

"Oh the coffee isn't for him,” Dawn laughed. “I need at least two cups before I can deal with Xander in a morning mood. I'm barely awake, and he’s all ready for the morning…” She blushed. She really needed to curb her over-enthusiastic tongue, and didn’t her blush deepen at that thought?

"You sure seem happy enough," Benny smiled, head cocked to the side.

"Oh, ewwww," Dawn cried. "You're doing that smell thing, aren't you? I get enough of that from Spike."

"Can't help it, sweetheart – comes with the heightened senses." Benny sounded playful and Dawn chuckled as she left the room.

A quick stopover in the kitchen yielded that pot of freshly brewed coffee, and a couple of day-old pastries. After washing her hands, Dawn headed to the library and the stack of books she left on the table from last night.

It was funny. Under normal circumstances, she’d have been happily ensconced in a place like this for weeks… even months at a time. But the very idea of being unable to leave made her feel terribly claustrophobic, even in the totally spacious room that made up the library.

She glanced up at the metal flight of stairs. Thinking of heading to the top level, walking out the bunker door and feeling the sun on her skin made her overly melancholy. The mere thought made her body tremble.

And then the library itself trembled and groaned. It was a low sound, but it built steadily. Suddenly there was dust falling down from the ceiling, and the table began to shake - enough to topple her books.

"What the hell?" Dawn said to the empty room. She ran towards the doorway, remembering the drill from school about earthquakes and the safest place to be.

She looked around and gripped the doorpost, ducking as one by one, the books leapt off the shelves and flew at her. What was funny in Ghostbusters certainly wasn’t in real life; instead of questioning things, she took off and ran.

Dawn wasn't really paying attention to where she was going; too busy trying to dodge the books still falling off the shelves. She ran smack into what felt like a brick wall and landed on her ass. When she looked up, there was a blonde-haired woman standing over her, looking somewhat like Harmony, but wearing a black pants suit… the kind of which Harmony would have burnt to ash before being seen wearing.

"Wh-who are you?" Dawn stammered from her position on the floor. "How did you get in here?"

The woman didn't answer. Instead, Dawn heard a rustle of what sounded like feathers, and as she turned in the direction of the noise, she saw a second suit – this one worn by a man who looked like he’d stepped straight out of the pages of GQ.

 _Now_ she was worried. Flanked by strangers... alone... in a place that was supposed to be impregnable. Spike, Buffy and even the Winchester brothers were still out Willy-hunting, Xander was in the shower and their resident vampire was standing watch over the unconscious angel.

That word – angel – pricked her subconscious, and the sudden appearance made her realize these guys had to be angels. And if they had managed to breach the bunker...

She screamed.

The continued silence of the angels unnerved her. Dawn had begun to feel like a bug on the end of a pin.  
They did nothing but look around, then stare at her. Their silence was actually deafening – the lack of noise actually hurting her ears. Neither one attempted to touch her, but when she tried to crawl out of the way, they blocked her path, no matter which direction she tried.

"Dawn! What's wrong?" Xander's worried voice sounded from the doorway. “I heard you scream.”

The angels turned towards Xander with a synchronized motion and Dawn used the opportunity to get to her feet.

And then Dawn noticed what she’d overlooked at first glance. Xander was indeed there. All of him. In the buff. Um, make that naked as the day he was born. In all his glory. Dripping wet, standing there like a Roman gladiator ready to battle whatever wanted to hurt his woman.

Her hero.

And did she say naked?

One of the angels turned back to her and Dawn realized they were about to make their move, and she had no way to escape.

Xander tried to reach her, but was blocked. Dawn would have bet money the angels wouldn’t make it easy. Even though there were only two angels, they seemed to occupy any space in the blink of an eye.

At that moment, Benny arrived on the scene. "Run!" he yelled, as he pulled an angel down, wrapping his arms in a death grip around one of the angels. 

Xander crawled along the floor, finally managing to get to Dawn and they attempted to leave the library while the angels were distracted. Benny struggled valiantly, but was quickly thrown against a bookshelf, bringing it down around his ears.

Dawn was torn between taking the chance to escape and wanting to stay and help, but she'd been used as a hostage too often… the best thing she could do for the friendly vampire was to run like hell and make sure none of the angels got their hands on her, hoping Benny wouldn’t get too badly hurt on her account.

She grabbed Xander's hand and they headed toward the lower level. Dawn remembered a heavily-warded dungeon, and hoped like hell that would keep the angels out. Xander followed her, but kept peeking into rooms along the way.

"Xander, we have to hurry," Dawn chided. “This isn’t a sightseeing tour.”

He attempted to cover his crotch as she scolded him; it wasn’t as if he had anything she hadn't seen. "If it's all the same to you, sweetie, it's just a little bit cold down here," he muttered, shivering slightly for effect.

"It's cold for me, too," she replied. Honestly, the little sundress she had on was barely suitable to wear outside in the first place.

"Well, I'd just rather grab something, anything, to wear before we have to face off against those angels again. If I have to die, I'd rather go with my last shred of dignity"

"Nobody asked you to storm in with everything on show," Dawn said, mulishly. Suddenly heading to the dungeon didn't seem like quite the best idea she'd ever had.

"You were screaming… what did you expect me to do?" He sounded almost affronted at the very idea of not running to help her.

"Next time, grab a towel before you come running out of the bathroom?" she tried as she couldn’t help the chuckle rising up from her throat.

"Fine. Taking for granted there _is_ a next time… next time you're in mortal danger, I'll get dressed first. In fact, I'll make sure to pick out my Sunday best."

"Aren't you wearing that already?" This time Dawn couldn’t hold back a full-throated laugh, which she promptly swallowed down. She looked around, opening every door they ran past, hoping to find something, anything that they could use either as a weapon, or to cover Xander’s behind.

"Oh, thank God," Xander huffed, pulling a plain grey cotton bathrobe off the hook in what looked to be a guard's room. "Not the world's greatest fit, but at least it covers the goodies."

"Men." Dawn snorted. "Remember this the next time you drool over one of those comic book chicks dressed in nothing more than a skimpy bikini while fighting evil."

He'd no sooner donned the robe when a thud sounded from down the hall. They looked back and saw both angels trying to batter down yet another invisible barrier.

The walls made the same low sound Dawn had heard in the library, and she knew with a certainty that the wards wouldn't hold for long.

They continued running, but eventually the hallway ended in front of a locked wooden door. Xander tried to shoulder it open, but only succeeded in hurting himself.

"Right now, I wish you really were a key... then we could get in there," he whispered.

Dawn looked at the walls on either side of the door and saw it – a ring with keys on it, hanging on a hook embedded in the wall. With the angels still battering the wards, she hoped for a few moments’ grace. Of course there had to be at least twenty keys on the blasted thing. The first one didn’t fit, nor did the second. The battering grew louder. How much longer would those wards hold out? She gripped the third key so hard her fingers went white, but miraculously it fit, and she turned it.

A quick twist in the lock and the door practically slammed open, pulling them both forcefully inside, only to reveal what looked like some kind of storage room. Symbols lined the door, walls and floor. Maybe there was some kind of weapon, anything they could use to defend themselves. This place was supposed to be a supernatural stronghold, right? Who knew what kind of mystical hoo doo they were storing here?

Boxes of chains and manacles, each inscribed with runes of some sort or another. Some of them she could read, others not so much. They practically thrummed with magic. But what good would they do against angels? And how would they be able to hold the angels still long enough to restrain them?

The door burst open again and they both stared at the angels in the doorway. The air in the storage room seemed to shimmer and pop as the angels surged forward. Dawn was desperately pawing through the boxes and shelves, hoping not to grab something that would only make matters worse.

Xander, on the other hand, wasn't worried at all. He just grabbed the first thing he got his hands on; a long, gnarled stick. He stood his ground, ready to angel-bash.

"What the hell good do you think that will do?" Dawn angrily whispered.

"I can’t just stand here and let them beat on us. And we’ve gotten out of tricky situations with less,” he whispered back. He twirled the stick around his fingers like one of those kung fu movie stars he liked so much.

Dawn was surprised the damn thing didn't fall to the floor. She was more surprised to see the angels back up slightly.

The third time the stick twirled around, some kind of shockwave discharged from it, hitting the angels in the middle of their chests and knocking them back against the wall.

"Good Godfrey Cambridge," Xander shouted. "Looks like I found something after all.” He held it out again but nothing happened. As if a lightbulb went off in his head, he began to twirl the stick – no, the staff, again. Once, twice, thrice, and the wall opposite the room began to crumble.

"Sweetie, you might want to be careful with that thing," Dawn cautioned.

"Yeah." Xander shook off his nerves. "Some of those walls might be load bearing."

All of a sudden, the two angels stiffened and intensely bright white light shone from their eyes and mouths. They collapsed to the floor in seconds, and behind them Castiel stood, arms still outstretched... a look of determination on his face.

"That staff of Gideon will not be enough. More will be on their way," the angel said as he stumbled, weakly, holding onto the door for support.

***

"What the hell are you doing here?” Naomi demanded.

"Now, now, Naomi - language more befitting your station would be prudent," the hat-wearing demon tsked.

"It's befitting enough for the likes of you, abomination," she retorted, staring at him with fire in her eyes.

"Hey! There's no need for hostility. I've just come to talk."

"Then talk. Why would the Powers send their tame mongrel?”

Pushing down the insult to his nature, Whistler continued."The Powers heard you've been looking for… something. Something that no one with half a brain would want to find."

"That's really none of their damned business." Naomi slapped her hands down on her desk. "I'm trying to keep things from deteriorating here. We need to gain an advantage to..."

"The Key won't be that advantage, Naomi. Even Lucifer knew better than to look for the Key." 

"Maybe not,” Naomi concurred, “but it's better to have it under our control than to let it fall into the wrong hands."

"There are those who say the wrong hands would be yours," Whistler said, a sneer twisting his usually placid countenance.

"And whose hands are the right ones? The Winchesters?" she snapped. The contempt in her tone was sharp and lethal.

"The Winchesters' motives are more honorable than yours, it seems. However, no... not even they should possess the Key.” _What is it that she doesn’t understand about Balance?_ he wondered.

"Then who?"

Whistler took off his hat and juggled it with his hands. "The same person who's been keeping it safe for the past ten years. The warrior of the people."


	19. Chapter 19

Charlie stood outside the bunker door, shifting her weight from one foot to another. She wasn’t sure what her reception would be… from anybody. But she had the feeling that she was needed, so here she was, duality be damned.

She banged her fist against the metal door for the third time, hoping someone inside would hear her and let her in, since neither Xander nor the Winchesters were answering their phones.

Her poor hand was definitely going to bruise from the blows.

When a bearded man opened the door, Charlie stepped back in surprise. This stranger was so totally unexpected, that she was at a loss for words. What was he doing in the Winchesters’ sanctuary?

She noticed him holding his hand to his head and blood oozing through his fingers.

“Dean?” he asked before he looked up, saw her, and backed up a few steps into the bunker, settling into a rather awkward fighter’s stance.

“Wow, you really must have hit your head hard if you think I’m Dean,” Charlie said, taking in his shaky stance.

“Who the hell are you?” he rasped.

This time it was Charlie’s turn to stumble backwards. The man’s face changed; sharp, shark-like teeth filled his mouth. Oh, fuck! _Leviathan!_ she pulled a pint-sized bottle of liquid borax from her purse and splashed him with it.

No burning… he just stood there, dripping onto the floor, looking rather flummoxed at her action.

Okay, then. _Not_ a Leviathan. Charlie tried to think of all the monsters she’d read about in the Supernatural novels as he swiped his sleeve across his face to dry off, spitting a bit of the vile fluid from his mouth with a look of disgust; his now normal, human-looking teeth.

No! Maybe? Vampire? Not like any vamp she’d ever seen before, either in Sunnydale, or any other place she’d hung her hat.

“Are you like Lenore?” Charlie asked, sounding somewhat hopeful. Maybe he wouldn’t try to kill her, which was a good thing.

“Lenore?” His expression, if anything, grew more confused. Guess he hadn’t read those novels.

“Good vampire? Tried not to kill humans?” She wondered if sunlight would stop him from lunging at her.

“My name’s Benny,” the vampire offered, his voice gaining strength as his eyes cleared. “I’m a friend of Dean’s.” He opened the door further, silently inviting her in, when they both heard the sound of a muffled explosion coming from deep inside the bunker.

Worry for whoever was inside made for strange bedfellows, and they both ran towards the sound, only to be greeted by… Xander and Dawn… and some guy in a trenchcoat.

“Vi? What the heck are you doing here?” Xander asked, desperately trying to keep his robe closed.

“I thought…” she took a second look at Mr. Trenchcoat. Was he… could he be Castiel? Her cheeks pinkened at the thought of the fanfic she’d read involving Dean and the angel. There are folks out there with rather interesting imaginations. “I-I thought that Sam and Dean needed help,” she stammered.

“And what? We didn’t? I did call you, remember?” Xander’s tone was accusatory, and Vi/Charlie (and yes, her head was gonna explode over her own duality) could see that he wasn’t too happy with her at the moment. Neither was Dawn, though she had yet to utter a single word.

“Buffy’s a slayer, Spike’s a vampire. They can look after themselves and anyone around them. Dean and Sam? They’re… they’re like you, Xander. They’re human – totally without powers. They just don’t have that preternatural ability to survive against all odds. Not forever,” she amended. “All it takes is for a demon to have a good day, and it’ll be all over.

“Besides, they’re my friends. And Dean’s my handmaiden; it’s my duty as his Queen to keep an eye on him.”

The “huh?” was obvious on everyone’s faces, but she wasn’t going to explain. It wasn’t important to what was going on right now.

“My god, Vi!” Dawn finally stepped forward, enveloping her into a warm embrace. “We haven’t seen you in forever. And how do _you_ know the Winchesters?” she added; a perplexed look marring her pretty face.

Vi bowed her head, relishing her friend’s closeness for a moment, before she saw Benny raise his head out of the corner of her eye.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, eyes darting around the room.

A suited woman appeared out of nowhere, causing the others to go on high alert.

Vi didn’t understand what all the fuss was about, except for the fact that she appeared out of nowhere. She was a hottie, too, in that repressed librarian way, with her hair pulled into a severe bun. Sorta made a woman want to unleash her inner-wildcat, but there was no reason for fear that she could see.

"Slayer," the woman said, pointing in her direction.

Vi whipped her head around to see who she was talking to. She hadn’t been a slayer in years.

"I was told that the Key was in the hands of the Warrior of the People."

Dawn shrunk back slightly into Xander's embrace.

"I was led to believe that the Warrior lineage would be able to protect the Key."

"Now... that's not quite what I said." A man in a fedora and a cheap suit popped in right beside the woman.

"I don’t care what you say, demon. The meaning behind your words was clear."

"Naomi, be reasonable," the demon said.

"I’m being far more reasonable than I should under these circumstances. You, slayer," Naomi said, pointing at Vi. "Your blood is needed to protect the key."

"But… but… I'm not a slayer," Vi insisted. She wasn't, not anymore.

"Do not lie, slayer - your essence tells what your words do not."

"My powers were taken from me, years ago," she tried to insist once more. It was hard not to quail under that voice.

"You will be a small sacrifice to ensure the safety of the Key," Naomi continued.

"Sacrifice?" she squeaked. Oh shit. She remembered every fantasy book she'd ever read; every sci-fi movie she'd watched... sacrifice rarely meant anything good. Asking her to skip lunch for a week probably wasn't what Naomi had in mind.

The woman raised her hand and laid it on Vi's head. She immediately developed a full-body tremor, paralyzing her limbs. The pain was excruciating, and she cried out.

Worse than her own pain were the echoing screams she heard coming from Dawn.

Vi realized she’d fallen to the floor at some point, and struggled to get back up. She could see that Xander had run to Dawn’s side, holding her as she screamed, so she aimed herself at the creature (because no human woman could cause pain like that), hoping to return the favor.

She just couldn't stop her own screaming long enough to lay a hand on Naomi. She tried not to think, even as her body fought against her, and yet something else – something familiar - was just within reach, something useful, if only she could harness it.

Charlie could see the slightest bit of fear in Naomi's eyes as she struggled to her feet, and suddenly she could feel it right down to her fingertips. Taking a deep breath, she just let it fly. Her fist connected with Naomi's head, sending the other woman to the floor.

No sooner did Dawn's screaming stop, than the bunker door flew open.

The sight of Buffy rushing in, followed by Spike and the Winchesters made her heart sing, even as her hand felt like she’d shattered bones.

Buffy immediately homed in on the stranger. “What the hell did you do to my sister?” she spat, fire gleaming in her hazel-green eyes.

Vi looked at her with relief flooding her system. “My hero,” she muttered, before passing out cold. 

***

Buffy hurled herself into the room, straight to her sister's side. "Are you okay, Dawn?" she asked, frantically running her hands over Dawn's body, checking for injuries.

"Let me guess," Spike grumbled. "Bitch is another one of your angels?"

"Head bitch," Dean agreed.

"Guess Heaven is an equal-opportunity employer,” Spike said as he pulled a shotgun from beneath his duster, cocked it and aimed. "Can't touch the bitch without frying, but I can do this from afar."

Sam shook his head as he tapped Spike on the shoulder. "Don't bother, dude. It's a waste of ammunition."

By then, Buffy noticed Vi, passed out on the floor.

"Go, Buffy," Dawn murmured. "I'm okay, really. Make sure that Vi is."

Buffy hesitated for just a second longer before she made her way to Vi, wondering how and why the girl the girl was here. They hadn’t seen or heard from her in nearly a year, and suddenly she popped in just where they are.

Vi came to in her arms, her cheeks devoid of color. "You're here to save the day again," she murmured, her eyes not exactly focused.

"What were you doing?" Buffy asked Naomi, wondering if Spike could get the scythe to her from across the room. It was damned good at killing most demons she'd come across.

A flash of movement behind Naomi caught Buffy’s eye. "Whistler! Why the hell are you here?” she asked. “I thought we left you at Willy's."

"Keeping up my part of the bargain," he said as he tipped his hat in Buffy’s direction.

"So... is my sister safe to leave? Can she leave? That's what you promised," Buffy said, still holding tightly to Vi. "Remember when I promised to turn your ribcage into a hat all those years ago? I keep my promises, too."  
"That's what I was just trying to arrange with Naomi, before she decided to sacrifice one of your slayers to keep the Key protected."

"I can see how well she listens to you," Buffy spat. "So what the hell are you? Dean keeps telling me that you and your suited pals are 'angels'," she said, making air quotes as she turned to Naomi. “That you’re from ‘Heaven’. Then she smiled, as saccharine-false as when she pretended to be the Buffybot. "I don't believe him. I've been in heaven, and you and your cronies, whatever the hell you are, would never be found there. You have no idea how in the mood for a good slay I am. Nobody threatens my people."

"Because you were happy, safe and secure." Naomi said. "Because your most beloved memory – the one you relived over and over while you were in our custody – was that of being in your mother's womb."

Buffy froze. _How could she possibly know?_

"It is nothing to be embarrassed by,” Naomi continued. “A lot of human souls choose that as their preferred heaven. It fosters tranquility beyond anything their life had to offer.

“I am a Seraph, first class," Naomi added, haughtily, as if that was supposed to mean something to Buffy.

"A serf?"

"Seraph, like Castiel, only higher up in their bureaucracy," Whistler explained.

"I've met mind-readers before, lady. You'll have to do better than that to convince me." Buffy tried not to show just how hard the thing's words had hit her; the memories of peace and finality she’d dredged up.

"Sorry to break it to you, Buffy, but they really are angels. They're dicks, but angelic ones. And believe me, if you'd have asked me about all this six years ago, I'd have believed it about as much as you do now. It doesn't mean she can be trusted, and I'm pretty sure one of her faces has to be a snake. But angel or Dimensional wavelength of celestial intent, it's all the same line of crap."

Buffy glared at Dean. She really didn’t want to believe Naomi was some celestial being. A demon she could slay would have been way better.

"Great," Buffy muttered. "Another damned snake monster. Angelic, to boot."

"I do _not_ have the face of a snake, Dean. I wear the face of an eagle." Naomi actually looked affronted. And then she turned back to Buffy. "And I am not one of the mongrels you have fought in the past. My kind far preceded the old ones. We were created at the dawn of the universe. Compared to us, this world is just a blink in the eyes of God.”

Vi managed to sit up by herself, which left Buffy free to stand and stare down Naomi. Or up, really, since she was the taller of the two of them.

“Yeah, right. Like we haven't heard bragging like that before," Buffy muttered.  
Spike, the Winchesters, even Whistler grew tense. Apparently, even they could feel the power building up in Naomi in response to Buffy’s lack of tact.

"You are not sacrificing one of my girls - not even for my sister. There has to be another way," Buffy insisted.

"There are only two ways to tie the Key to the Slayer lineage, Ms. Summers. To spill the lifeblood of a Slayer, or to sacrifice a mystical object of immense emotional importance.” Not giving Buffy a chance to interrupt, Naomi continued, "The Scythe your vampire has hidden on himself may have great mystical power, but neither you nor any of the other Slayers have more than the slightest emotional connection to it," she chuckled.

"Besides, the Scythe was already used as a link to the Slayer lineage,” Naomi continued. “To do so again may end the lineage all together.”

Buffy closed her eyes, trying to gather her patience and her strength. When she opened them again she saw that Castiel had entered the room, still leaning up against Benny for support.

"Naomi, this has to stop. You can't continue to use people... even slayers for your own ends," Castiel said. "I won't allow it."

"Why yes, Castiel, I'm well aware of what you will or will not allow. The spilled blood of your brothers and sisters showed us that."

"Well?" Buffy stood strong, hands on her hips. "Does anyone here have a mystical, emotional goo gah that'll take the place of a human sacrifice? Come on, folks… trying to save a life, here."

Dean stilled; he turned as pale as any vampire.

"What about the Impala?" Vi asked, turning to Dean, who looked as if someone'd just asked him to throw his brother down a ravine. "The books said that it's the most important man-made object in history, right?"

"Son of a bitch,” Dean whispered. “No. No, no, no way in _hell_ ," he said, this time more forcefully. "Nobody touches that car."

"Look, Dean, I know it's your security blanket, but..."

"Dean... she's going to kill Vi, or some other innocent girl who doesn't deserve it," Buffy whispered. “And there’s no way I’m going to allow it… even if I have to give up my own life.” She might not understand the car’s value to Dean, but in no way could it take precedence over a human life.

Naomi began to walk towards Buffy and Vi, obviously intent on carrying out her mission.

Buffy pulled herself straight and gathered her emotions close before she spoke again. She looked first at Dawn, then Vi, and lastly at Spike.

“No!”

She ignored his heartfelt plea and stared at Naomi, her chin held high and defiant. “If a slayer has to die to ensure my sister’s safety, then I offer my life. It’s not like I want to die,” she said, looking at her loved ones once again, “but I want her to live, more.”

“Buffy, no!” Dawn cried. “Please… don’t do this again. I can’t do this again.”

“Are you freakin’ insane, woman?” Dean looked at Buffy as if she had three heads. “I mean, I get that you’d do anything for your sister. I’d do the same for Sammy, but as much as the Impala means to me, it’s not worth your life.” He turned to Naomi, his hands rooting around deep in his pocket and pulled out his car keys.

Buffy still didn’t understand what was so damned important about a hunk of metal and wheels, but the angel was practically salivating at the thought of getting her hands on it. Maybe, Buffy thought, just maybe it was because of the sheer heartbreak on Dean’s face. Some creatures thrived on the pain of others.

“The Impala, the heart of your family’s love,” Naomi said. “It will make a beautiful necklace once it’s sacrificed.”

Dean hesitated, though Buffy could tell he was totally resigned to giving the car up, when Sam cleared his throat.

“I have something to offer that fits the bill,” he said, digging his hand into his pants’ pocket. He held up what looked like a necklace – black cord with a weird, gold pendant. “Mystical, and means the world to me.”

“The Beacon.” The angel re-focused her attention on the younger Winchester.

“We were told the amulet lights up in the presence of God,” Sam said, holding the thing aloft. “That fits the bill as mystical, doesn’t it?”

"Oh, it's so much more than that," Naomi murmured.


	20. Chapter 20

“The Beacon.” The angel re-focused her attention on the younger Winchester.

“We were told the amulet lights up in the presence of God,” Sam said, holding the thing aloft. “That fits the bill as mystical, doesn’t it?”

"Oh, it's so much more than that," Naomi murmured.

***

Even with all the crap going on, time suddenly seemed to stand still for Dean when he saw the amulet dangling from his brother's hand. The very amulet he'd tossed in the trash ages ago. The amulet Sam had given him for Christmas when they were kids.

How could he not remember it – the look of adoration in his brother’s eyes when he placed it in his hands – how Sam said Dean deserved it way more than their dad. He'd worn that damned thing for years. His brother's love right next to his heart.

But those memories were overlaid by what else he remembered. Visions of Sam's heaven – one scenario after the other – of Sam leaving him… them… of getting as far away from his family as possible. How _Sam's_ best memories were those where he was free of the Winchesters. And if the amulet was also meaningless in the search for God, according to Cas, and even more meaningless when it came to him and Sam, then keeping it that long had been a mockery.

Still, even after all that, he couldn't help but be warmed by the fact that Sam had bothered to dig the amulet out of the trash. Dean had regretted dumping the damn thing almost as soon as he'd left the motel, but when he went back to look for it, the maids had long since cleaned the room out.

Seeing it now – in Sam's overly large paws like that – sent a decidedly warm feeling down his guts, knowing that his brother had had it all along. Even after Dean had gone to Purgatory, Sam had kept it. Maybe some part of Sam had still cared about him, even then. Even if he hadn't bothered to look for him. Even if he seemed annoyed that Dean was back. 

For just a split-second, a nasty little voice inside of him wondered if Sam handing over the amulet was an act of getting rid of him now? But Dean tried to ignore that voice. If that were the case, Sam had had plenty of chances to dump the thing before now.

Dean’s head was about to explode with all the conflicting emotions he was feeling. No matter what, though, there was no denying that the fool thing was loaded with emotional ties to the both of them. 

"Sam, I..." 

"We'll talk later." Sam didn't actually say the words aloud, but Dean could read them in Sam's eyes; in the way his brother looked at him – those big puppy eyes of his ready to share his soul.

"Enough of this nonsense," Naomi interrupted. "The Beacon will be a sufficient sacrifice."

"What do you plan on doing with it?" Buffy asked. "Are we in for more world endage?"

"Of course not! Why would we wish for the world to end?" Naomi huffed.

Dean snorted at that. Not like heaven had cared all that much about earth when it came to the big title fight of the century.

"Or maybe world bendage," Buffy pushed. "With you setting yourself up as the head cheese?"

"I have no intention of looking after... _humans_ , Slayer. Your kind is not my concern."

"Except when it involves heaven's politics, right?" The demon, Whistler, said. Dean still didn't quite trust the guy.

"Would you let monkeys run rough-shod over your business? I’ve had enough!" Naomi held out her hand and the amulet suddenly appeared in her grasp.

The necklace floated above her palms and began to glow so brightly that Dean had to close his eyes. When he reopened them, the glow had been reduced to a softer white light and the amulet itself had vanished.

"Now where is the Key?" Naomi demanded.

"Seriously?" Dawn couldn't help but ask, incredulity on her face.

Dean stilled. The bitch couldn't be that stupid, could she? It was then he realized that she thought Dawn was another slayer. What was it that Xander had said… that Dawn was made of Buffy? And with the sigils Cas marked her with to hide her keyness, no wonder Naomi couldn’t sense her. It made him feel a smidgeon of pride for his friend that his plan had been somewhat successful.

"Do you actually need to see the Key to perform your ritual?" Dean asked, trying to protect Dawn for as long as he could.

The angel hesitated, glaring at him, but he refused to back down or avert his eyes. When it came down to it, he'd faced worse. Dean turned to see the demon guy smirk, as if he was somehow communicating with her telepathically. It worried him, until the guy turned and winked.

"No," she finally admitted

"Then what _do_ you need?" Xander asked, wrapping his arms around Dawn.

"A Slayer must link the Beacon to the Key. Once that's done, in essence, the two will become one and the Slayer lineage will feel bound to protect the Key for all time."

A big smile crossed Buffy's face with that statement. Dean thought the woman looked far too scary when she smiled like that – all bubblegum and cheer. It made his balls shrink and his cock swell at the same time – she really was his kind of girl.

“The Key would be safer if nobody in power knew where it actually was,” Whistler said to Naomi. “This way nobody would be able to make you divulge its whereabouts. And the Slayer will keep her word. She always does. The Key will always be safe in her hands, or in those of her sister slayers.”

Naomi began to chant the words in Enochian and they were most painful to listen to.

Dean looked around, trying to see how Sam was doing. His brother seemed to be in pain, and Dean ignored everyone to get to his brother’s side and support him.

Naomi's words seemed to be drawing strength from Sam... and then _he_ stiffened, as he, too felt something grab at his guts and pull.

"What the..." Before he could finish, the light in Naomi's hands coalesced into some kind of orb.

Buffy walked over to her and held out her hand.

Their eyes locked – hazel to slate-blue. After a minute, Naomi relented, handing over the orb.

"Cheerios, pip-pip and all that crap," Buffy said. "Now get out of here, and stay the hell away from us or I might not be so nice the next time."

Spike groaned, muttering something about making Buffy pay for the most atrocious abuse of a British accent.

Naomi vanished without another word.

"She's gone," Castiel said, and Dean let go of the breath he'd been holding. He couldn't believe she’d actually left without leaving injuries and bloodshed in her wake.

Castiel raised his arms and whispered, and the bunker shuddered once, twice... and then stilled.

"I'm guessing that's our cue to leave," Buffy said, smiling.

Dean matched her smile. He was going to miss the little feisty blonde. And possibly, though he probably wouldn’t admit it even under torture… her vampire.

"So the orb thingie?" Dawn joined her sister, staring at it. From the wariness of her posture, she looked worried that the orb would float above her head, constantly supervising her for the rest of her life.

It flashed, and in its place was a necklace with a bright green gem set in silver.

"Heh,” Buffy snickered. “This is pretty, at least. It would have been worse having that orb on the end of a chain. "The orb must have sensed you were a girl with good fashion sense," she said, beckoning her sister closer.

Dawn stood still as her sister put the necklace over her neck. When Buffy tried to close the clasp, the gold ends merged together and the chain shortened until Dawn could no longer pull it over her head.

"Well at least I can't lose it," Dawn muttered. “And I'm gonna have to make sure my clothing won't clash with it. Couldn't they have made it a mood stone?" she muttered. "At least then I'd stand a chance of matching it with different outfits."

"Don't look a gift-orb in the mouth," Xander warned. "It could have been a goat on a string.”

“Or a big car,” Dawn said a bit dreamily.

“One you couldn’t ever leave.” Buffy answered her. “I’m sure you’d get tired of that old pile of steel soon enough if that were the case.”

Buffy could tell that Dean wanted to threaten her about insulting the Impala, but his baby was safe, so he let it go.

Dean tuned everyone out as he helped his brother to a chair. "So you kept the amulet," he murmured.

"I had to, Dean."

"Why?"

"Do you really have to ask?" Sam asked, looking hurt. “You're my brother, and I love you. Even if I let you down, I couldn't just... “

"You didn't… you didn't look for me." The words hurt, the facts hurt worse. Dean could barely face his brother.

"I'm sorry." Sam's face fell, heartbroken. "I was… I was lost, Dean. I didn't have the strength to go on; to do anything, when you were gone. It's like the world stopped moving, and I couldn't even hop off, because I knew you wouldn’t want me to."

"But you kept the necklace, anyway," Dean pushed.

All Sam could do was nod.

"Thanks."

For now, nothing more needed saying.

***

The tips of his ears burned red with embarrassment thanks to the elder Winchester’s wolf whistles and crude comments once he’d noticed Xander’s state of nakedness under the flimsy, grey robe. He’d barely restrained himself from running out of the room.

He gathered the last remaining shreds of his dignity and walked briskly back to the room he and Dawn shared. Once dressed, he stared at the floor, wishing he didn’t have to face Dean ever again. Even though Xander wasn’t a gawky, awkward teenager any more, they guy reminded him of the way kids like Larry had bullied him throughout high school; with a touch of Cordelia, to boot. He was sure Dean would never let him live it down, either.

Xander looked up at the sharp rap on the door to see the younger Winchester’s compassionate face.

"I really should have warned you that Dean can be a bit of a jerk," Sam said.

 _You think?_ Xander just managed to keep that thought to himself. "How the hell do you tolerate him?" is what he said instead.

"First of all... he's my brother. If anyone’s borne the brunt of Dean’s sense of ‘humor’ growing up, it's me. He's all gruff on the outside, and creampuff on the inside."

Xander snorted at that.

"Seriously, Xander, he wouldn't joke like that if he didn't like you." Sam seemed to think better of his last statement and added, "Well he might, but it would involve a lot more insults and a lot less friendly ribbing."

"I'd hate to get on his wrong side," Xander grumbled. No matter how old he was, barbs still had a way of getting under his skin.

"Trust me, nobody else would, either, but he means well. Dean… well he's just... we never really had any friends when we were kids. We moved around too much for that, so his social skills and friend-making ability are a bit lacking. Hoswever, if you were a girl..."

"And let's not go there," Xander said, horrified. "You never know who's listening in.”

"Let me guess, that vengeance demon fiancée of yours?"

"Anya’s… gone, but she wasn't the only vengeance demon... so yeah. Never, ever wish for anything out loud."

“Really?” Sam asked. "No way it’s that easy, is it?"

"When Dawn was in high school, she told a concerned guidance counselor that she wished Buffy wouldn’t leave her alone all the time. The whole gang got mystically locked in at Buffy's place for hours, unable to leave. And I can’t forget to add there was a demon hiding in a sword that Buffy had found. There was fun all around, let me tell you.

“It wasn't until Anya tricked Halfrek - the demon who’d been masquerading as Dawn’s guidance counselor - into joining us, that she managed to get her to reverse the curse. Believe me, saying 'I wish' is more than enough.”

"Okay then," Sam said, shaking his head. "Guess that's the last time I wish on a star." Changing tack, he asked, “So… what's the plan? Heading back home?"

Xander smiled. "Most happily, yes. With my woman."

"Gonna make an honest woman out of her?"

"Buddy, if you think that a ring and some paper are needed to make Dawn honest, then you’ve got a second think coming," Xander replied jokingly. "But no, I think the two of us are just going to try and rebuild the trust between us. She'll be heading back to her studies as a Watcher, and me... I'll go back to being the carpenter extraordinaire I've always been."

"Carpentry?"

"Someone has to repair what the girls manage to destroy during training and general hijinks. Keeping the house running, helping to stop an apocalypse occasionally... you know… same old, same old."

Sam just looked at him for a moment. "And you don’t think what you do is of any importance?" he asked.   
"I've seen the way Dawn looks to you. No wonder she was in such pain when she got here. Her touchstone was gone. She needs you, Xander. And by virtue of your relationship to her, others need you, too."

"I'm just a regular guy, Sam. I'm nobody special."

Sam snorted at that. "Have you seen me and my brother? Outside of some issues I had with demon blood, both of us are as normal as they come. You might not have noticed it, what with hanging out with slayers, witches, vampires and so on, but you're a damn fine hunter. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

"Regular guys don't walk headfirst into the kind of dangers we face. It takes heart, dude. Real fortitude."

Xander didn't know how to respond to that. His hand went to his eye patch, and he relived the agonizing pain of Caleb's attack. It also hadn't stopped Spike from being overly solicitous when he came home. He remembered the guilt Spike carried with him, even to this day, about not being able to save his eye.

But even so, his disfigurement hadn't stopped him from fighting. 

"So, what are you planning to do about your brother's vamp?" he asked, trying to change the direction of the conversation.

"Huh?"

"Benny... you know... and Dean? Friends? More? Your support?"

Sam sat down heavily on the bed, looking like a sick puppy. "Would you believe me if I told you I have no idea what to do?" he sighed. "I've just been so... jealous of all the time Benny got to spend with Dean, that I didn't bother to think of how much I owe him for keeping my brother safe in the first place.

"I don't know how to do it, man," he muttered. "Every single time I trusted a demon... let them into my life, they ended up falling back on their true nature and needed to be put down. How can I trust Benny when it comes to Dean? How do you trust Spike when it comes to Buffy and Dawn?"

"It hasn’t been an easy road for me,” Xander admitted. “We have a many-years long history. The bad shit's in the past, and he's more than redeemed himself in my eyes. The women love him. And he's spent his second shot at undeath doing his best to keep them happy and safe. He loves them... plain and simple. Something it took me a long time to believe in. Spike isn't your typical vampire.

“I mean, Spike's already died for Buffy once. And well, it's hard to keep hating a guy when you've watched all of Star Wars together, heckling Jar-Jar Binks."

"I knew another ... vegetarian vampire once." Sam said, quietly, after a moment’s silence. "Her name was Lenore. She was the first 'monster' I’d met who tried to be more than she was supposed to be. She and her clan wouldn’t eat humans; they'd just feed on cows, no matter how their blood disgusted them. But when it came down to it – when Eve, the mother of monsters started pushing them all to kill – she wasn't immune."

Sam seemed so broken. Xander knew he was only a few years older, but the man seemed so much younger right then.

"She was a good-hearted vampire, and Cas ended up having to kill her, because she lost control. I can see when that Benny cares about my brother, but what if something happens? What if the Alpha vampire takes control of him, and makes him kill?"

"What if someone takes control of you and makes you kill?" Xander retorted. "You can’t distrust people because of what _might_ happen, Sam. All you can do is give them the benefit of the doubt, and the chance to prove your paranoia wrong."

"That's your way of saying I've been an ass, isn't it?"

Xander smiled, his eye lighting up with mischief. "Pretty much, yeah."

Sam left the room, deep in thought and Xander figured he might as well leave his... their… leave the room as well. He finished throwing his and Dawn’s stuff into their duffel bags and headed towards the exit, just in time to catch Spike in what looked like a deep, important discussion with Benny.

When he heard the words: sobriety chips, Xander decided discretion was the better part of valor and instead of joining in, discreetly made his way out towards the car.


	21. Epilogue

Oi, mate," Spike called out to Dean as everyone headed out to the car. "Got a little bit of manly advice for ya."

"Manly? What do you know about being manly?" Dean joked back.

Spike leered, thrusting his thumbs into his belt loops, nicely framing his 'manly' bits. "I like you," Spike said. "Not a prissy sort of fellow, from what I can tell. Which is why I don't understand what your problem is."

"My problem?" Dean asked. 

"From what I can see is you've got the proverbial choice of devil or angel. I'd say that's an embarrassment of riches for one man to have.”

"What do you mean?" Dean squirmed, looking decidedly uncomfortable. 

_What is with some people and denial? Dean, Buffy, although not so much anymore in her case. They’re rarely willing to flat out admit to wanting something outside of the ‘normal’. Outside of what others’ opinions were._ Spike shook his head at the foolishness of it all.

"You do know that they're both in love with you. The trenchcoat doesn't take his eyes off you. As for Benny... he pretty much melts like butter when you're around. Don't tell me you can't see that."

"They're friends. _Just_ friends."

 _And wasn’t that a load of bollocks!_ The fear in the hunter’s eyes perked up Spike’s predatory senses. Dean looked like a cornered animal. "Does your brother have a problem with you seein' another bloke?" Spike asked, looking at Dean shrewdly.

"I never..." Dean blurted out, looking horrified at the suggestion.

"Or was it your Da who wasn't up to carrying the rainbow banner? Vamps have it much easier than you humans; gender... or even species... isn't a problem."

"I'm not gay!" Dean yelled, then quickly pulled himself together. "Not that there's anything wrong with that, I'm just... not."

"Stupid humans and their labels," Spike snorted. “Just give me an honest answer,” he pushed. “And remember, your heartbeat will give you away if you lie to me. Who’s got your motor running – the vamp or the angel? Or can you honestly say it wouldn’t matter if either of them vanished from your life today?"

"They're friends," Dean insisted once more, though with less vehemence. "Good friends, that’s all."

"And you believe that?"

Spike could see Dean inwardly crumbled, his expression bleak.

"Oh _do_ tell... that look on your face speaks volumes."

"Benny..." Dean croaked. "Sam made me make a choice and it damned near killed me."

"You could have told him to get stuffed."

"You wouldn't get it," Dean muttered 

"What kind of choice? Between two 'friends?" _Must have been some choice to break the git up like this_ , Spike thought.

"No. Between him and Benny."

"Balls," said Spike. "Your brother has the hots for you?"

" _What?_ " The look on Winchester's face was priceless; definitely green around the gills.

"No!!! He's my brother for crying out loud. Why do people keep thinking that?"

Spike quirked his scarred eyebrow at that outburst. He could have given him some answers to that, but being with Buffy for the past ten years had at least taught him some tact. What he said was, "So let me get this straight, no pun intended... your brother doesn't approve of you havin' a hard on for a vamp?"

"Are you deliberately being dense?" Dean yelled, frustration twisting his features. "Sammy doesn't trust him. He insists he'll turn on me like all demons."

"And being a good little bitch, you always follow what your brother wants?" Spike snorted in disgust.

"You wouldn’t get it."

"That’s the second time you’ve said that to me. What wouldn’t I _get_?"

"You don't have a brother."

That silenced Spike for only a moment before he replied, "Might not have a blood relation, but there was a time I almost died to protect Dawn from a hell god, and that was before the Slayer and I were together in any real sense. I'd say I know exactly what it means to care about someone you’re not shagging more than your own life."

"The chick seems to be attached to you as well," Dean said, his foot toeing the dirt.

"That's love for you... makes you do the wacky."

Dean looked at him. "My god… you sound like a twelve year old girl."

"Just quoting the love of my life," Spike grinned. "Look, mate. You gotta grow a pair of balls here. Make a bloody choice and then have a sit down with that brother of yours. You don't have to give up your heart for him... it should be big enough to accept him and your fella."

"He gave up his girl to stay with me. I couldn't..."

"Did you ask him to?” Spike interrupted.

"Of course not, I just... I just didn't want him to leave me. We’re the only family we have left."

"But in the end, it was his choice, right? To leave the bint? Then he has to give you the same choice... he can't hold himself as hostage here. Nobody wins."

"He didn't exactly ask, either. Not really. He just... he had a hunter tailing Benny without his knowledge. So I tricked him. I tricked my brother to get him out of Benny’s business. I switched the names on his phone and then sent him a message – made it look like his girl was asking him for help. He left. No word, no nothing… he just left. Of course he got pissed off with me when he found out."

"And that's why he issued you an ultimatum?"

"He… I just called Benny – told him it was over, that I couldn’t be in touch anymore. Even though he needed my help, and I knew he did, I let him go."

"Told Benny to call me if things get rough – sponsor-like,” Spike said. “If you can’t…”

Dean seemed to flinch at the word sponsor. He floundered, unable to get his mental ducks in a row. "That wasn't all this was about. We... damn," he muttered."

Spike smiled. _Now he's getting it!_

Spike! Get your lazy ass in gear!" Buffy called from the car. "We want to make some distance before it gets light."

"Look, Winchester, you seem like a decent enough chap. Just take some advice from someone who's been where both your blokes are at. Stop stringin’ them along. Nobody says you have to cleave unto either, but if you’re not willing to give it a go, let them know it, so they can move on.

“And if you are interested, stop being a pussy about it. Pick one, pick both, pick neither for all I care. But stop sitting on a damn fence, ‘cause sooner or later you'll end up fuckin’ alone."

"Spike! Get in the car or I swear I'm gonna drive." Buffy’s strident tone rang out once more.

"Oh hell no! Sorry mate, time for this vamp to go home."

Spike took place behind the wheel, totally ignoring Dawn and Xander macking on each other in the back seat. Buffy sat primly shaping her nails in the shotgun seat.

He smiled and turned on the radio, finding something a station with acceptable music. For about ten seconds, his life was perfect – until Buffy rolled her eyes and reached for the tuner’s control pad.

He had better things to fight about.


End file.
